


Returning from Mandos

by Umeko



Series: Daughter of Fire [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Family Drama, Healing, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 59,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: The elves of the House of Finwe return from Mandos and must adapt to life in the new Valinor during the Second Age and beyond.





	1. Amme's Little Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a look at the challenges faced by the Finwion elves as their relations return from Mandos. 
> 
> Also posted on fanfiction.net.

Mornel felt it was her responsibility to her family to accompany her aunt by marriage to Lorien. True, this would not be first of the royal Noldor house to return but still… Finrod had been released well before he was fully healed, so Master Olorin said. His healing was only completed outside Mandos, and after an extremely trying time for his family. Aunt Earwen did her best to reassure Anaire but she was unable to make the journey due to her royal duties as the current queen.

“What if he were to be as consumed with despair and sorrow as Findarato was?”

“Don’t worry, Aunt. Just look at Cousin Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel winked at Mornel as he flicked a fly off the ear of their patient carthorse with his riding crop. A covered wagon would convey them to Lorien, and if Arakano wished, back home to Tirion where Anaire hoped to nurse her youngest back to health. They feared Arakano might be too weak to ride and Anaire could not bear the thought of her son at Lorien, away from the familiar comforts of the house she had taken great pains to keep as it was when her family left the city.

“Laurefindil is so insufferably cheerful, Lord Namo probably sent him off to keep the peace in the Halls,” Anaire huffed.

“Well, I did persuade the youngsters from Gondolin to have a bit of a sing-along to cheer Grandpa Finwe up,” Glorfindel replied. “They did have a nice fire in his room. Lord Namo said that’s Uncle Feanor.” Too many elflings had perished when the city was overrun and more during the perilous trek to safety afterwards.

“Wait, you used my Atto’s fea for a campfire?”

“No wonder Grandpa was not too happy… Oh, here we are!” Glorfindel announced as they stopped before a willow-mud hut. Lady Anaire could not help wrinkling her nose at the hovel. It was a far cry from what she had imagined her son would wake up in.

“He could have woken up in a forest clearing. I know I did, under the stars with a bit of a lean-to in case of rain,” Glorfindel added. “Arakano!” he bellowed as a shadow slid across the hut’s only window.

There was a flash of white as the door flew open and a dark-haired elf made a mad dash for the woods. In a trice, Glorfindel had overtaken him. There were some things long overdue in saying. Arakano had kept himself hidden from his older cousin in the depths of the Halls.

“You moron! What were you thinking charging headlong into those orcs? That was not the plan! Were you trying to get yourself killed? Wait, you did,” Glorfindel cussed in Quenya, and then Sindarin.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Arakano bleated from the headlock Glorfindel had caught him in. Laughing, the blond relinquished his hold.

“I missed out a lot being dead you know. I didn’t get to fight a dragon or build some fancy city like my brothers…” Arakano pouted as his mother fussed over him. He was as tall as Glorfindel, and had soft features which betrayed his relative youth when he entered Mandos.

Mornel ran over to join the pair. Glorfindel gave a brief introduction. Handshakes were exchanged, both newly-introduced cousins being too shy for anything more intimate.

“Let’s get you home,” Anaire sighed as she enveloped her son in a hug and kissed him on the cheek.

“Amme!” Arakano protested. “I’m a grown ner already…”

“I brought your favourite cheesy chicken pie, from your favourite bakery in Tirion…”

“Really?” Arakano’s eyes lit up and he smacked his lips eagerly.

“I would advise you to go easy on the pie,” Glorfindel coughed. “Your hroa will not be able to digest such rich food…” he paused as his younger cousin dug greedily into the large pie his mother had produced from a picnic hamper. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you…” he rolled his eyes.

Rather belatedly, Anaire offered a slice of pie to Glorfindel and Mornel. Glorfindel did not bat an eyelid when halfway through his pie, Arakano let out a groan, clutched his belly, and dashed for the privy located behind the hovel. A worried Anaire abandoned her luncheon and went after her son.

“You did warn him,” Mornel shrugged as she reached into her pack to take out some medicinal herbs for upset stomachs. She would prescribe a gruel over the next few days to allow Arakano to recover. Afterwards, a light diet for a month or so, as Aunt Findis had advised. Cheese, milk, and rich foods might be slowly re-introduced afterwards.

There was more than sufficient time on the journey back for Arakano to endear himself to Mornel. Although he was elder than her by birth, Arakano acted like a young ner. He was impatient at times, pushing his new hroa to its limits, and trying everyone else’s patience. A mis-timed leap from a bough caused a badly-sprained ankle and Anaire’s wagon proved its worth in conveying their patient home to Tirion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how this series will turn out as a semi-companion fic to The Numenor Letters. I am using the Quenya version of Argon’s name for now. I have made some changes to his height so he is no longer the shortest of his siblings, and taller than Mornel.


	2. Family Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the rewrite, I have decided to expend on Arakano’s interactions with everyone in Valinor he missed out meeting in Beleriand. Let’s start with the Secondborn.

Mornel fidgeted uneasily. As did Glorfindel. They would have explained things to their cousin earlier on the long ride back to Tirion but Anaire was insistent they did nothing to excite or upset her precious little boy. There was to be no discussion of battles and other upsetting things from Middle-earth. Mornel wondered if her aunt’s definition of ‘upsetting matters’ had extended to Idril’s husband. Mornel wished she had had the presence of mind to bring along one of Finrod’s theses on the Secondborn for Arakano’s reference before the dinner.

Arakano’s eyes had widened when Tuor stepped through the door. He watched warily from behind a curtain as Tuor exchanged bear-hugs with Glorfindel. Idril exchanged the usual polite greetings with Mornel and her mother. Lady Anaire had the cook prepare a light repast for her son and a veritable feast for the other guests at Mornel’s recommendation. It was barely a month since Arakano’s return from Mandos. To everyone’s surprise, Tuor’s son and law-daughter arrived shortly after Idril. Lord Manwe had granted Lord Earendil some time off from his patrol of the sky to meet his granduncle.

Now the family sat at the dinner table as the household servants waited on them. Tuor’s command of Quenya had improved but he still had a heavy accent. He was more at ease with Sindarin. Idril and Tuor had settled on Tol Eressea after much travelling through Aman seeking a suitable place to live.

Arakano ignored his soup and continued staring at Tuor and his son. Earlier, he barely remembered his manners to compliment Lady Elwing. He had remarked on how Idril had grown from the little girl he recalled. It was almost inconceivable that she was now a grandmother. Words failed him when it came to the bearded Tuor and Earendil who wore his Mannish heritage clearly in his slightly rounded ears.  

Aunt Anaire chattered inanely about the latest fashion for puffed sleeves in Tirion, hoping to distract the guests from her son’s rudeness. It only made the dinner more awkward. Finally Earendil could bear it no longer.

“Granduncle, forgive my bluntness, but may I ask what is so interesting about me and my atto that makes you stare thus?”

“Are you related to the dwarves? Beards are rare among the Eldar… Or are you kin to the ents? Is it true the orcs and the Secondborn come from the same creatures before the Sun?” Arakano blurted out. Glorfindel groaned aloud and Mornel face-palmed at Arakano’s thoughtless words.  

“We are kin to neither dwarves nor orcs. I have had past dealings with dwarves and find them steadfast friends. Never met an ent yet. As for the orcs, my people have slain a good many. I seriously doubt we are related in any way,” Tuor guffawed, breaking the tension.

“Lord Cirdan has a beard long enough to rival my atto’s,” Earendil beamed. “Though it is too fine to be braided like a dwarf’s.” Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief.

“If it interests you, we can borrow one of Finrod’s theses on Beleriand’s peoples. They have a complete set in the Great Library,” Mornel suggested. Finrod’s comprehensive essays should address most of Arakano’s questions.

The appetizer was eaten and the servants brought in a roast. Tuor offered to carve and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his hairy forearms.

“Are you hairy down there as well?” Arakano blurted innocently and pointed vaguely below Tuor’s belt, sending the servants into titters.

“Arako!” Lady Anaire admonished, turning as red as a beetroot. Glorfindel chuckled.

“I meant his legs, amme,” Arakano corrected.

“Aye, my legs are hairy too…” Tuor started craving the roast without missing a beat.

“As is his chest and other parts… not that it detracts from his charms,” Idril winked mischievously at her husband, who coughed and turned red in the face.

“We will get you that scroll on Edain biology tomorrow when the library is open,” Mornel conceded.

“Are there any dwarfs in Aman?” Arakano asked. “Now that I have met a Man in person, I would like to find out how a Dwarf compares with what the tapestries say about them or what scrolls they have in Lorien on the matter…”

“No dwarves have been seen about Aman yet,” Glorfindel replied.

“So you left your sons to be raised by Feanorions and now one is both mortal and king to the Edain on the island gifted to them by the Valar? That is really the stuff of legends! How’s my great-grandnephew?” Arakano asked after dessert was cleared and everyone retreated to Lady Anaire’s parlour.

“Well, it wasn’t our intention to leave them but things worked out in the end,” Elwing said. “I do wish we could meet Elros again before…”

“Elros is a remarkable king,” Earendil added as he sat down beside his wife and placed a hand over hers to comfort her. “His name will live on through the Ages.”  

“Hey, I heard Finrod is visiting the Noldoran. Do you think you are up to visiting the palace tomorrow?” Glorfindel deftly changed the topic. “You up to it? He is a father now. The lad’s a bit of a handful. One might think the boy is the re-embodiment of Cousin Celegorm. If one did not know better…”

* * *

 

Arakano managed to rouse himself early the next morning and leave the house before his amme could stop him. Mornel and Glorfindel were in the royal stable-yard tending their respective horses, Glorfindel because he would not entrust Asfaloth’s care to anyone else, and Mornel because her bad-tempered horse was feared by the royal stable-hands. Many an elf had landed in the House of Healing courtesy of Fearocco.

“So Finrod did marry his beloved after all,” Arakano smiled as they observed the pair on their balcony overlooking the yard. He sat on the stile and kicked his legs idly. Amarie and her husband were exchanging tender looks as she fussed over his the laces of his shirt.  

A cacophony of barks and whoops broke the silence.  A blond ner galloped into sight, pursued by a pack of hunting hounds. He attempted to leap over both Arakano and the stile, but the horse had more sense than his rider. Instead he pulled up short and threw his rider headlong into Arakano. Both landed in a pile of stinking manure.

“Are you hurt?” Glorfindel called out. Mornel hurried over to pull the elves out. Excited dogs yipped and barked. Several hounds leapt the stile and were nipping at the hooves of an increasingly annoyed Fearocco.

“Oh, get the dogs out before someone really gets hurt!” Finrod called out from the balcony.

Laughing, his son dusted himself off and gave a shrill whistle. The dogs cocked their ears. Those inside the yard leapt back over the stile. The pack loped over to the water trough and sat down quietly. Only Celeglass’ horse remained by the wall and whinnied as if apologizing to his master.

“Hello, cousin,” Celeglass grinned impishly, none the worse for the wear from his tumble.

“Ow, that hurts…” Arakano complained as he stood up.

 “Now both of you need a bath before we can meet Uncle Ara,” Mornel shook her head.

* * *

 

“Welcome back, nephew,” Arafinwe hugged his nephew Arakano warmly. He patted his grandson on the shoulder. Fresh clothes had been obtained by the palace servants for both Arakano and Celeglass. If any stink of manure remained after their hasty bath, Arafinwe did not pay it any notice.

Mornel and Glorfindel had similarly washed up and changed into clean clothes. They were now seated at breakfast with Finrod and his family.

“Is there some ceremony I need to go through?” Arakano asked. “Amme mentioned it…”

“That can wait for another season or two, until you regain your full strength,” the Noldoran suggested. The swearing of fealty could be quite overwhelming for any elf with the entire royal court watching.

“Your amme would want to have you fitted for a new set of court-robes. Fashions in Tirion have changed,” Finrod added. “I can recommend a tailor.”

* * *

 

Tirion had changed much during his time in Mandos, Arakano reflected between bites of an apple. His cousins had volunteered to show him around Tirion and reassured his amme he wouldn’t take part in anything too taxing. The Library of Tirion was far more impressive than he recalled. There were new shops and buildings. They stopped for lunch at an eatery specializing in Nanodrin fare. Their sweet-root pottage was light enough for Arakano.  

“If I had not seen Tyelkormo still in Mandos when I left, I would have been tempted to think Lord Namo had him return as Findarato’s son as some colossal prank… He is quite wild…” Arakano remarked as they watched Celeglass play-wrestle with a tame bear some Nandor had brought into Tirion. Arakano would have liked to have a go too but his cousins forbade it.

“Yes, that he is… Hey, don’t wear out the poor beast. I want to try my hand at bear-wrestling too,” Glorfindel called out. Celeglass laughed and broke away from the wrestling match, leaping clear as the bear attempted a half-hearted swipe with his paw. The bear’s owner beckoned it over to him for an apple and a well-deserved rest before Glorfindel’s turn.

“Or perhaps Celeglass was meant to be Celegorm’s son in another version of the Song,” Glorfindel suggested. He had recently taken to discussion of philosophy with various Maiar.

“They did say his parents were disturbed by puppies when they begot him,” Mornel repeated the old gossip. “Is he that much like my brother?”

“There is the Finwian chin and a bit of the cheekbones. The hair’s similar in shade, but his eyes are blue, not the Finwian grey… It’s the spirit that is alike,” Arakano surmised. “He has far more fire in him than one would expect from his parents…”

“Finrod has fire in him too, except he does not really show it much,” Glorfindel added. “Wait, is that lad sticking his head in that bear’s mouth?”

The elves rushed over to rescue their reckless kinsman. It would never do to have the Noldoran’s grandson killed by a bear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too adventurous yet, aside from some social gaffes and meeting a couple of new relatives.   
> Celeglass is Finrod’s firstborn, born in Aman while Mornel and the others were off fighting in the War of Wrath


	3. Return to Alqualonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arakano visits Alqualonde with Finrod and son after returning from Mandos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am adding this chapter for Argon visiting Alqualonde for the first time after his return from Mandos. Mornel will not be present.

He had visited the Swan Haven with his family on those lazy vacations by the Light of the Trees. Never had he seen the port city and the sea off it awash with sunlight. Arakano reined in his horse and gasped at the sheer beauty of the golden light twinkling off the waves. His cousin Finrod pulled up next to him.

“I-it’s amazing…” Arakano managed. Finrod clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t tease the divers!” Finrod called out a warning to his son as Celeglass trotted off the main road for a bay where the local ellyth were known to dive for shellfish and other delicacies of Lord Ulmo’s realm. The younger elf’s only response was to urge his horse into a gallop. Perhaps Celeglass had met a pretty diver the last time he was in town.

_Blood, flames, darkness… The screams of pain and fury…_

“You alright?” Finrod asked his cousin, noticing how pale he had gone. Arakano nodded weakly.

“Best we get to my grandfather’s then. It is rather warm today,” Finrod suggested. 

* * *

 

_Welcome back to Alqualonde, Arakano Nolofinwion, all’s forgiven…_

_Really?_

Despite King Olwe’s reassurances, Arakano stared warily at the goblet of dark red liquid offered to him. His cousin had gone off with his grandparents to discuss some private family matters – likely concerning his son. Arakano was left to the tender mercies of the two eldest princes of the Teleri. Both were watching him like a cat would a bird.

 _Best get it over with…_ With a resigned sigh, he gulped down the wine and immediately made a mad dash for the fountain, followed by the chuckles of the silver-haired princes.

“W-what was that foul concoction?”

“Wine with a bit extra,” Raumeldo laughed. “A dash of magic berries from Tol Eressea.”

“It messes up your sense of taste for the next couple of hours or so,” the Crown Prince Eareldo shrugged. “Makes the best wine taste like piss. You might develop a craving for seagull poop and raw fish guts though.”

“Urgh…” Arakano realized that the normally sweet water of the fountain tasted like mud to him. “It will wear off, right?”

A few hours later at dinner, Arakano’s lack of appetite was noted by their hostess.

“Oh dear, perhaps the clams are overdone… or is it too rich for you?” Queen Falmiril fussed. She had taken to the kitchens personally to prepare the favourite dishes of her Noldor guests. Arakano shook his head. The seafood chowder tasted horrible to him but he did not want to upset his hostess.

“Perhaps he is tired, amme,” Raumeldo suggested. He regretted playing that prank on their guest. Celeglass had stormed off before dinner after a severe talking-to by his great-grandfather and father. Finrod and Amarie had allowed their only child to run wild and it was time to instil some discipline in him. Crown Prince Eareldo was having dinner with his law-parents.

“The lobster salad is so fresh, grandma… And that grilled mackerel…” Finrod exclaimed. “My son doesn’t know what he is missing…”

“It’s his loss then,” King Olwe agreed. He leaned towards his son while his wife was fetching their dessert of warm bread pudding from the stove. “Raumo, once those damned berries wear off, take our guest out for a decent supper. Try not to stay out too late. We have the shipyard tour tomorrow morning.”

* * *

 

Arakano wished Raumeldo had agreed to his suggestion of bread, kippers, and cheese from the palace pantry. However, the prince was having none of that. By night, the quays reminded Arakano too much of the Kinslaying, even though they had been rebuilt since. Elegant swan-ships bobbed at anchor. The taverns did brisk trade with the local fisher-elves and mariners.

“Beyond Tol Eressea is Numenor,” the prince explained. “Many of my fellow-mariners have business dealings with the island. Personally, I do not care much for their wares. But their liquors are something to be reckoned with.”

They had donned the simple tunics of common-elves before leaving the palace to better blend in with the customers. As Master of the Ships, Raumeldo was able to secure a snug corner booth in the _Shipwright,_ one of the better taverns near the shipyard. Their house special seafood stew soon sated Arakano’s grumbling tummy.

“I say, you’ll be alright waiting for me a bit here, wouldn’t you?” Raumeldo asked. He looked over to the bar where several ellyn were gathered over their drinks. “I have a spot of business I need to attend to outside…”

When Arakano nodded his assent, the prince strode over to the bar. A brief conversation with one of the drinkers later, the pair went out of the tavern and headed in the direction of the shipyard. Arakano finished the last of his stew. Sipping his wine, he looked around the tavern.

He caught sight of a familiar ellon with a saucy-looking elleth on his lap. It was Celeglass. He had his hand on a rather intimate part of his companion’s anatomy. Perhaps he was trying to stop her breasts from falling out of her too-low bodice? _Finrod was not going to like this,_ Arakano shook his head. He debated with himself on whether he should intervene. The minx laughed and kissed the blond on the lips.

The tavern door all but burst open and a mob of rough-looking sailors stormed into the room. “Lay off my sister!” the ringleader bellowed and floored Celeglass with a blow to the face. The minx squealed in alarm and fled the scene with a second thought to her beau.

Celeglass rose and wiped blood from his split lip. His intent to take on the sailors was clear, outnumbered or not.

 _Oh bother…_ Arakano got up from his seat. Hopefully, he could defuse the situation before things got ugly or save his cousin from a pummelling at least. Many of the other customers were looking decidedly belligerent.

* * *

 

Dawn found the king and queen visiting the scene of last night’s fire. The _Shipwright_ was now a smoking ruin. Thanks to the quick action of the local fire brigade, the neighbouring buildings were only scorched by the heat.

A sullen Finrod went over to the local goal to bail out his wayward son and cousin after his uncle alerted him of their arrest. As Master of Ships, it was Raumeldo’s duty to keep the peace of the shipyard district. It was fortunate they were able to shut Celeglass and Arakano in a cell of their own, away from the rowdy drunks who spent the night fighting and cussing each other. Everyone agreed the fire was accidental. There had been some of those strong liquors served in the house and a number of the customers were well on their way to drunkenness when the fighting broke out. Someone must have knocked over a candle in the melee.

“We are in trouble now,” Celeglass grinned impishly as he loaded some charred timber into a cart. “Atto says I am to be sent to Lord Tulkas’ once Grandfather Arafinwe writes the recommendation letters for us.”

“My amme will probably kill me first…” Arakano groaned as he beat out a smoking ember. 

King Olwe deemed it fit that all participants in the brawl assist the owner in clearing up the ruins as punishment. It was fortunate no one was badly injured or killed in the conflagration. Compensation would need to be made to the owner for the loss of his business and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Mornel’s probably back in Formenos.


	4. Under the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arakano gets bored with Tirion and goes off on adventures. The cousins spend time in Formenos.

Lord Denethor’s people had arrived at the lake for the midsummer festivities. Mornel was there to receive them as was the custom whenever she was in Formenos for the festival. She crowned Denethor with a wreath of wildflowers and offered him the customary cup of berry-wine. In exchange, the Nandor gifted her with a white deer’s pelt and a necklace of porcupine quills. Denethor then whispered into her ear that he rather preferred her distributing the wreaths, for Lady Tatie enjoyed adding her own little twist to the ritual by smacking the chieftains on the bottom as they downed the wine.

Mornel was surprised when Denethor greeted her cousin Arakano warmly by his Sindarized name Argon and a hug. The pair conversed briefly in Sindarin before Denethor re-joined his hunters. With a smile she recalled her cousin Arakano had spent a season running about with a band of Nandor in the south. Arakano’s patience at his mother’s cosseting ran out and he had fled the stifling confines of Tirion for the wilds of Aman. Finrod met his cousin by chance when taking his wife on a leisure trip into southern Aman. After hearing how frantic his mother was in Tirion with no news from him, Arakano took his leave of the Nandor and returned to Tirion.

“A fine archer he is,” Denethor conceded. “Would you believe none of my men could hit the broad-side of a buffalo even at fifty paces?” Mornel had joined the hunters at their campfire.

“But surely the Nandor are skilled hunters with the bow…” Mornel started.

“You assumed wrong, milady. Not all Laiquendi are skilled with bow and arrow… My people hunted boar and deer with spears back then before the Sun and Moon… Even with our sight, it is better to have a spear than arrows in the thickets, for fear of hitting one’s fellows,” Denethor chuckled and hefted his spear. “As for my father, Lenwe, he was great at finding edible plants, but he did not have it in him to hurt any animal, not even for food. Thin as a willow branch.”

Mornel nodded. She still had much to learn from the Nandor and Avari. Denethor’s small band of hunters probably hunted with him under the stars of Beleriand long before Tilion steered his vessel across the skies for the first time. Mornel excused herself. It was time for the dance and as hostess, she needed to declare its start. 

* * *

 

“It was probably like this for Grandfather and the other elves on the shores of Cuivienen, living under the stars…” Arakano had yawned, lay back on the sweet grass, and rubbed his belly, sated with grilled trout.

“I am sorry your stint at Lord Tulkas’ did not work out…” Mornel murmured. It was late but the dance was still ongoing and would continue until dawn under the supervision of the elders. Tired dancers left and fresh dancers joined the line of elves slowly circling the lake. Only at dawn would the dancing end. 

“Nope. The routine gets a bit stale after a while, even with Cousin Glorfindel…” Arakano yawned. His crown of wildflowers had slipped rakishly over one ear. He sported the tattoo of an oak leaf on his exposed shoulder, the mark of a Silvan woodsman.

Mornel smiled. Her stints in Yavanna’s pastures were not as fruitful as her elders had hoped. Despite her friendship with the Vanya ner assigned to be her tutor in the agricultural arts, it simply was not meant to be. Her tutor was now happily and bountifully wed to a sweet-tempered Vanya nis. The climate of Formenos still ruled out corn as a staple crop. She did however, learn a bit about animal husbandry which would come in handy for the flocks of Formenos. They had needed wool, milk, and meat for the city’s growing population. Hunting and trade were far from sufficient to meet their needs. Perhaps Arakano’s talent also lay in areas other than the warrior arts.

“How long will you be staying, Arakano? Long enough to learn a craft?” Mornel teased gently. Many of the skilled craftsmen of Tirion had moved to Formenos over the yeni.

“Did you not hear from Glorfindel? I am in disgrace!” Arakano groaned mockingly as Glorfindel joined them on the grass. The blond had flowers woven into his golden locks and was clad only in a loincloth, having joined the customary dance around the lake.

“Well, you did promise King Olwe to behave while in Alqualonde. Then you went on to wreck a tavern that same evening,” Glorfindel smiled as he took his cloak back from Mornel.

“Well, Cousin Finrod’s boy was there, and I could not leave him to be beaten up by some Teleri sailors. He’s family, you know…”

“I think it should have been the sailors who are worried,” Mornel remarked. She had heard from Finrod he was sending his son to Lord Tulkas’ to instil some discipline in him. She expected Celeglass to make his escape and seek sanctuary with Lord Orome within the week.

“The tavern went up in smoke, didn’t it?” Glorfindel added. “Nice reminder to the older Teleri elves of a certain incident during the Darkening…”

“It was an accident…” Arakano whimpered.

“Well, I am glad you made it safely to Formenos without getting eaten by a bear or falling off a cliff. I suppose I should return to Lord Tulkas’ and report on your safety to Tirion,” Glorfindel downed a mug of cider.  “I suppose Lord Tulkas will forgive you, eventually. Fancy taking off like that without a word after I recommended you to his mansion.”

“Sure you are not staying for longer, cousin?” Mornel asked. Glorfindel’s parents were not at the festival but their farmstead was ten miles from Formenos.

“Well, I suppose I could make a detour to visit my folks…” Glorfindel relented.  “Lord Tulkas did say there was no hurry for me to return, my training under him being quite complete. Perhaps I could stay until fall or maybe spring…”

“That’s a terrific idea! I have not been in these parts before, and I am sure Cousin Mornel will show us the wild and untamed north…” Arakano beamed.

“It is possible,” Mornel mentally ran through the many valleys around the north of Aman. Most of the local tribes were friendly to her but there were a handful of places they forbade outsiders from entering at certain times. They could also explore parts of the upper Pelori none of the Nandor or Avari had colonized yet.

* * *

 

“I don’t understand why we cannot go to that valley with the beautiful crystal cave you told me about…” Arakano complained. He tucked his foot out of the way just in time to avoid Fearocco’s teeth.

“You saw the alder pole with the antlers and squirrel tails,” Mornel explained patiently. “That particular totem is a sign the tribe does not wish to have visitors as one of theirs is undergoing training in that cave to be a seer.” The Avari who lived there carried out secretive rites to complete the initiation of their seers into Lord Irmo’s service. “If we trespass at this time, we might be seen off by a hail of arrows.”

“Seriously? Wouldn’t that be a Kinslaying?”

“Don’t worry. They will not aim to kill, just enough to incapacitate us and have us carried off to a healing tent outside the valley until we recover,” Glorfindel shrugged. He urged Asfaloth into a trot, away from the forbidden valley.

“Trust him. Our dear cousin made that mistake once and caught an arrow in the rear,” Mornel jested. Glorfindel made a face which had Arakano laughing. “We could come by next year to see the cave. They hold the initiations every five cycles of the sun, for it is a demanding ritual on everyone in the tribe. A week of fasting is sure to turn anyone cranky.” 

They had stopped for a few days at the farmstead of Glorfindel’s parents before setting off on their adventure. Aunt Lalwen had cried for joy and fussed over her nephew. She had not made the journey to Tirion until after Arakano had left the city to wander with the Nandor. Away from the royal court, Aunt Lalwen and her husband had mended their marriage between them. Glorfindel would be a big brother soon, judging by the swell of Lalwen’s belly under her apron.

“I hope it is a little girl. Lord Manwe knows we have too few girl-cousins…” Arakano murmured.

“I would prefer a brother to spar with…” Glorfindel admitted.

“What’s wrong with sparring with one’s sister? I sparred with you both…” Mornel blurted.

 “You are right. An elleth can be as much a follower of Lord Tulkas as any ellon,” Glorfindel conceded. “And Irisse was more than a match for Findekano in the training yard… Is there another valley we can visit?”

“Well, I heard from a crow that about five miles east from here is a valley with a small waterfall. I doubt it has been mapped before. Who knows what awaits us there?” Mornel laughed and pointed Fearocco down a natural trail leading in that general direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I let Glorfindel and Arakano spend some time in Formenos with Mornel before heading off on adventures further afield. Arakano probably used the Sindarin version of his name when hanging out with the Nandor, Sindar, and Avari.


	5. On the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cousins go on an adventure outside the fence of the Pelori to the edge of the ice. The journey stirs memories for some.

“Laurelosse was teething, and almost took my finger off when I last saw her,” Glorfindel touched his glove at the memory. “Amme wrote that Losse is now starting to help around the farm. They grow up so fast.”

“Well, who was it who took off with Master Olorin without a word to us? Aunt Lalwen brought little Losse to Formenos while you were off gallivanting in the wilds,” Mornel pointed out as she pulled her fur cloak tighter round her. Glorfindel’s little sister had been so disappointed her Balrog-slaying big brother was not in.

“I will drop by my parents’ place after we get back from this trip,” Glorfindel promised.

Mornel wondered what in Eru’s name they were doing on this ice-blasted coast on the wrong side of the Pelori. It had been a half-joking suggestion by Arakano over a quiet family dinner in Tirion to retrace the steps of the Host of the Noldor up the coast of Araman. Cousin Finrod and his son took it upon themselves to prepare the necessary logistics for the venture. Encountering Glorfindel in the marketplace, Finrod roped him in as well.

Now four elves were dog-sledding their way to the barren north. Even their sturdiest ponies could not withstand the harsh trek. Fortunately, they encountered one of the few Avari clans who made their summer home on the icy Araman coast. They traded some tools and their ponies for seal pelts and two teams of sled-dogs. They mastered the basics of mushing from the Avari before the tribe continued on their southwards migration. Having discovered a new Avari tribe, Finrod had decided to follow the clan for a while, with their permission, to better record their unique lifestyle in his ongoing thesis on various Avari customs in Aman.  

“Stop!” Arakano called out from in his nest of thick furs atop his sled. “It is late, we should stop.” Celeglass deftly brought the sled to a halt.

Following behind them, Glorfindel’s sled came to a less dignified stop when one of the runners caught on a hidden rock, sending its riders and load flying into a snow-bank. The dogs continued running, dragging the now-empty sled behind them. Grumbling, Mornel and Glorfindel dug themselves free.

“I’ll fetch them back!” Celeglass urged his team onwards as soon as Arakano had disembarked. Soon the sled and musher were lost in the drifts. It was also then that the trio realized that their food rations were still on Celeglass’ sled.

“Well, I suppose we should set up camp, and a fire…” Mornel dug out a tent-pole. Arakano retrieved the bundle which held their tent. Glorfindel looked mournfully at an empty cooking pot. Arakano managed to find a piece of dried fish he had kept in his pocket for a snack. Glorfindel snatched it out of his hand before he could eat it.

“Hey!”  

“Well, I have a fishing rod, bait, and a hand-drill. Perhaps I should try my luck at ice-fishing like our Avari friends and catch our dinner,” Glorfindel suggested and waved the piece of fish in the air. Ignoring Arakano’s protests, he strode gingerly out onto the ice. It seemed thick enough to bear his weight. Finding a suitable spot, he got down to drilling a hole.  

“It was here we saw the ships burn…” Arakano murmured quietly as he handed Mornel a tent-rope.

“Really?” Mornel looked out over the ice but she could only see the Sundering Sea. Losgar had sunk with rest of Beleriand at the end of the First Age.

“Atto was furious of course. We could have turned back then, but we chose to continue further north to the Helcaraxe,” Arakano did not betray any emotion in his tone as they worked to set up the tent and start a fire.

The crossing of the Helcaraxe had cost the Host of Fingolfin dearly. In the unrelenting dark and cold, many had perished. Their horses had died from the cold or hunger, or were killed to feed the elves. Their dogs met similar ends in the cooking pot. There were attempts to hunt the seals which lived on the ice, but the hunts were rarely successful. Further they went out on the ice, the fewer living things they encountered. None had thought life might exist under it. Even if they had, there had been little time to linger in their endless march to fish for Lord Ulmo’s bounty.

Mornel could guess at the horrors of the crossing from the tapestries Miriel had embroidered in Vaire’s Halls. Glorfindel had never spoken of it to Mornel. It was a dark chapter which he chose not to linger on. Instead, he shared with his cousin the glorious majesty of King Turgon’s Gondolin, the hidden city crafted in Tirion’s image. Perhaps it was possible for his happy memories to outweigh the bad.

Arakano had little chance to craft happy memories in the First Age when he was in Beleriand. Now the memories of the crossing hit with a vengeance. He hugged himself as if freezing even though a campfire was blazing merrily before them.

“Elenwe fell through the ice. We could not save her…” Arakano’s face was pale, almost ashen. “She was very kind to me… I wonder why Uncle Feanaro did not send the ships back… Finno was sure Maitimo would have sent them back… so many of the nissi and elflings would have lived otherwise.”

“I caught something! It’s huge!” Glorfindel shouted. Snapping into action, both Mornel and Arakano hastened over to assist him. The rod was bent almost in half. Mornel could see a dark shape in the small circle of ice below.

“It will not fit!” It was too big to fit through the hole. A snout lazily breached the surface, flashing a toothy grin at the elves. Glorfindel tugged on the fishing rod. There was a loud crack as the beast lunged up and stuck itself firmly in the hole. The hook had worked itself loose but the shark was still trapped. It struggled fiercely, causing the ice around them to splinter.

“Run!” Glorfindel shouted as he sprinted for shore. Mornel and Arakano did not need telling. Mornel barely made it to safety, leaping over several large cracks through which the dark sea showed. Arakano was less fortunate. The ice opened up under him. With a cry, he landed in the icy water. With a languid flick of its tail, the now-freed shark dove into the depths.

“Morgoth’s ass,” Glorfindel cussed as he raced to where his cousin had gone in, tearing off his heavy boots, cloak, and coat. He dove in after the rapidly-sinking ellon. He soon emerged from the water with a half-frozen Arakano.

“Quick, we need to get those wet clothes off him!” Glorfindel called out as he dusted ice from his rapidly-freezing hair. He dragged Arakano over to the fire, tore off his own wet clothes, and wrapped himself in his dry cloak. 

Ignoring his half-hearted protests, they stripped Arakano and wrapped him in a sealskin blanket. Mornel went to retrieve Glorfindel’s discarded boots and other belongings from the ice. When she returned, Glorfindel had piled more driftwood on the fire.

“T-thanks… I-I thought I was going back to Lord Namo’s…” Arakano chattered through his teeth.

The warmth soon drove the chill from their bones. Their wet clothes were hung up to dry. Mornel set a pot of fresh snow on the fire to boil for tea. The sun had long fallen behind the Pelori and stars were winking above. Varda’s ribbons streaked weakly in the distant north.

“I wonder if that was what Elenwe saw when she went under,” Arakano murmured. “So dark, and cold…”

“Don’t think on it. We were too far to reach her in time. At least we managed to save Idril…” Glorfindel added. “Let’s talk about other things…”

“What were you doing in your time away with Master Olorin?” Mornel asked.

“No, I am not speaking of that. How about we tell you of your brothers, before the Darkening?” Glorfindel replied with a smile.

“I didn’t know them that well. Amme forbade me from meeting them after that incident where Uncle Feanaro pointed a sword at Atto. Finno and Maitimo were best friends… They were probably best friends since forever. Turko was never close to the Feanorions, even before the Exile,” Arakano murmured wistfully. “Perhaps that ditty Makalaure made up about that goose-hunt had something to do with it…”

“Oh, that song was a hit. Quite catchy… but Turgon was not amused…” Glorfindel laughed as he pulled on his coat. “Turgon was not that great with a bow and wild geese can be quite territorial. Nelyo and Kano were alright, I guess, when they visited Tirion back then. I was always with Turko, and he never really cared much for the Feanorions.”

“Amme used to moan about how Irisse kept riding about with Tyelkormo and his little brothers. Irisse’s smart. She wouldn’t have gone riding off into the wilds with them if they were all bad. Maybe the Oath changed them…” Arakano added.

“Pityo perished when Atto burned the ships…” Mornel did not continue. _Did you meet in Mandos?_

“I barely knew him, or his twin, before the Darkening. Mandos is not exactly a place to form new friendships… Perhaps if they were like you, I would have been proud to call them kinsmen,” Arakano replied as he dressed himself in his now-dried clothes.

A distant chorus of barks announced the return of their dogs, Celeglass, and their food rations.  In addition to their rations, Celeglass had a large seal slung over a sled. The elves set about preparing the seal for smoking, cooking dinner, and tending to their sled-dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel probably landed a something like a Greenland shark, which is inedible unless you let it rot over a year or so, and will still taste of ammonia. I imagine the Avari tribe they encountered as being similar to the Inuit.   
> Varda’s ribbons – Valinor’s interpretation of the Northern Lights?   
> Laurelosse – Golden Flower


	6. The Golden Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cousins pay a visit to the farm of Glorfindel’s parents. A spot of sibling rivalry ensues. Arakano discovers a talent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that Lalwen would have enjoyed a rural lifestyle without the courtly protocols of Tirion or Gondolin.

“Laurelosse, come and greet your brother…” Aunt Lalwen coaxed without looking up from spinning wool into thread. Mornel, Arakano, and Glorfindel watch in amazement as what seemed to be a tall milk churn with boots approached them. As it neared, they saw that it was being carried by an elfling barely taller than it.

“Greetings… Ouch!” Glorfindel yelped as his sister very deliberately set the heavy milk churn down on his foot. Arakano chortled and patted her on the head. She looked so adorable with her messy braids, bright red skirt, and grimy apron. Laurelosse promptly kicked him hard in both shins.   

“Losse, don’t be orkish now,” Lalwen chided. On the farm she did not have the benefit of royal tutors and nursemaids to attend to her youngest. There was a nis who acted both as their cook and her daughter’s nurse until a few months ago, when she left to help her own daughter with a new baby. There were neri and nissi who worked on the farm and in the house. Her daughter had been allowed to help out with the lighter tasks.

“Your atto is going to town to fetch that new cider press tomorrow. He will not get you a present if you misbehave,” Lalwen warned. Farm-life was different from palace life but her husband had instilled the same discipline in the household as he once did with the palace guards.

“Good evening, brother…” Laurelosse sulked. Mornel hoisted the milk churn up since no one seemed willing to carry it back to the shed. The farm was prosperous enough to have its own dairy for milk, cream, and cheese.

* * *

“Is your sister a re-born orc?” Arakano whispered. Glorfindel raised a warning brow. The guests watched as Laurelosse glared daggers at her brother across the table. From peeking under the table, Mornel knew that the elfling had been trying to kick Glorfindel throughout the meal. Fortunately, her legs were too short to reach him. Aunt Lalwen and her husband had fussed over their son. Perhaps Laurelosse was just feeling jealous.

As with any farmhouse, workers and servants ate alongside the family. Laurelosse’s behaviour did not go unnoticed by them although Lalwen was kept busy refilling dishes from the stove and her husband was busy discussing the upcoming harvest with an older farmhand before leaving for a two-day journey.

“Not to worry, Master Laurefindil. She’ll warm up to you eventually,” a farmhand chuckled as Glorfindel failed to dodge a spoonful of gravy flung by his unruly sibling behind their parents’ back. Brown gravy dribbled down his white shirt. Another glob landed on his gleaming tresses much to the Balrog Slayer’s annoyance.

* * *

 

Breakfast saw more dark looks from the little lady of the house, and a bowl of oatmeal ‘accidentally’ tipped into Glorfindel’s lap when Lalwen sat her children beside each other.   

 “She’s about as wild as Celeglass, I bet…” Glorfindel grumbled over the work of churning butter. “I found tacks in my bed last night…” Being shorthanded, Lalwen had set her son, niece, and nephew to working in the dairy. Arakano murmured an agreement as he turned the wheels of cheese. Mornel was carefully skimming cream off the milk poured out into pans, a chore which needed some skill.

 “Talk about Morgoth…” Glorfindel glared as his sister entered the dairy lugging a bucket of milk. She stuck her tongue out at the neri before joining Mornel in skimming cream. Lalwen had dressed her daughter in the manner of a country milkmaid. Her hair was already escaping from its braids. Mornel helped tie a handkerchief over her head so that the loose strands would not get into the cream.

“No kisses for your poor cousin?” Arakano jested and was promptly smacked in the face by a cream-skimmer.

“Watch it, shorty. If you keep acting like an orc, you will turn into one,” Glorfindel snapped.

“I hate you!” the elfing yelled at Glorfindel. “All Atto and Amme can talk about is how wonderful Laurefindil is and how nice it will be if he can stay longer! Laurefindil this! Laurefindil that! How I wish you stayed in Mandos!”

There was an awkward silence.

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Mornel chided.

“I do! I don’t want to share Atto and Amme with him!” the elfling shouted and stomped her foot. She then ran from the shed.

“Oh dear…” Mornel murmured, she could not leave the cream unattended. Glorfindel was not budging. With a shrug, Arakano took off his apron and went after the elfling. He returned a few moments later without her. Laurelosse had taken herself up a tree and refused to come down. There was butter to be churned and cream to be skimmed.

* * *

 

Arien made her progress across the sky and it was soon dinner time. That was when the household realised no one had seen Laurelosse since late morning. She was no longer up the tree where Arakano had last seen her. A search was made for the missing child. To add to everyone’s worries, a thunderstorm was imminent. Haylofts and apple barrels were searched. In oilskins, they braved the growing wind to search the orchards and meadows.

“She knows she is not to venture further than the orchard,” Lalwen murmured when Arakano suggested expanding the search into the hills beyond the farmlands. Arakano frowned and cocked his head as if he were trying hear something over the howling wind.

The Pelori had been lowered from their towering height once the threat of Morgoth was gone and the watchtowers left to be reclaimed by nature. However, this left myriad high mountain passes and ruins where the wildest winds of Lord Manwe scoured with a vengeance. Near the farm was one such watchtower, standing and still visible over the trees.

 _If she were an elfling…_ Mornel paused and glanced towards the stone tower and the rough trail leading in its direction. It would not be too tiring for one used to farm work.

“I hear her. Glorfindel, can you reach her?” Arakano closed his eyes, his brow furrowed.

“Even if I can, she’ll shut me out…” Using osanwe, all Glorfindel could sense was his amme’s increasing panic as the first raindrops fell. The emotion drowned out everything else. Lalwen gave a sharp cry of pain when she tripped over a root, twisting her ankle badly.

“Try the tower,” Mornel suggested as she hastened over to help her aunt. Her part in the search was over for now. Aunt Lalwen needed to be brought indoors out of the rain and wind.

“By the winds of Lord Manwe, Mornel’s right… I think I can sense her there… Osanwe…” Arakano frowned. He had not meant to use osanwe. He never used it much in his first life ever since he outgrew the nursery. Even then, he had used it only with his parents and within the same house. Never had he tried reaching that far by distance or blood.

“I don’t…” Glorfindel closed his eyes, looking into the spirit plane like Master Olorin had taught him. There was a spark of light at the top of the tower. The watchtower would have been irresistible for any adventurous elfling.

The rain was coming down in torrents by the time they reached the foot of the watchtower. The trail had turned into a quagmire. _Where was an Eagle when you needed one?_ Perhaps in such a thunderstorm, even Eagles were reluctant to be abroad.

Lightning lit up the skies as the neri entered the tower, the door having long fallen off its hinges. Winding stone steps climbed upwards in darkness only broken by the occasional lightning. Gaping holes showed in the walls where the mortar and brickwork had rotted away.

Arakano reached out with his mind, touching and trying to reassure Laurelosse but she was too frightened to allow him to use osanwe properly. The effort was wearing him down. They were close…

“Watch out!” Glorfindel grabbed his arm before he stepped out into the void. Several of the steps at the top had given way. Across the gaping void was the elfling they had been looking for. Laurelosse was frozen with fear.

“Losse, jump,” Glorfindel held out his arms.

“It’s too far!” the elfling whined.

“You can do it! I’ll catch you!” Glorfindel shouted over the howling wind.

“No, you can’t!”

“I can. We can make it!” Glorfindel urged. Rain was pouring in through what remained of the roof and Laurelosse was soaked to the skin.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Laurelosse took a small running start and leapt. She barely made it. Her brother caught her before she fell. Arakano grabbed Glorfindel’s belt to stop him from being pulled down by the weight.

For a heartbeat, all three stop gasping from exhaustion. Then Laurelosse started wailing.

“I’m sorry for being such an orc,” she sniffled.

“There, there, everything’s alright now,” Glorfindel hugged the shivering elfling close to him for warmth. Slowly and carefully, they made their way down the tower and back to the farm where a warm fire, blankets, and warm food waited. They all but collapsed on the welcome mat at the kitchen when Mornel opened the door.

* * *

 

“Hm, I believe you should speak with Master Olorin or one of his colleagues about your osanwe, coz,” Mornel suggested after Arakano had described to her his use of osanwe to locate Laurelosse. The day after the storm was sunny. Arakano was so worn out from the night before, he could only sit outside the farmhouse. His untrained use of osanwe was unusual to say the least. With some proper training and guidance…

In a nearby paddock, Laurelosse playfully crowned her brother with a wreath of wildflowers as he lazed against some bales of hay. He sprung up from his mock-slumber and tackled her, until both were tumbling on the grass with laughter. Lalwen beamed to see her children were finally getting along.

Perhaps it was time to consider Laurelosse’s formal education. Her brother could act as her guardian in Tirion if he was willing. Lalwen dabbed away a sentimental tear. _Elflings did grow up so fast._ It seemed like only yesterday young Laurefindil was sliding down the bannister of his uncle Nolo’s grand staircase with his cousin Irisse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lalwen’s children have resolved any differences between them, for now. 
> 
> I cannot imagine Turgon ever indulging in such childish antics, even as an elfling, so that honour of sliding down a bannister goes to his sister.


	7. A Pale Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elenwe returns from Mandos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is someone who should be released from Mandos by now, even if not related to Finwe by blood. I have covered Arakano’s misadventures with drink in Numenor in the recent chapters of the Numenor Letters. 
> 
> I imagine Glorfindel’s sister Laurelosse being a young elleth now.

It was a fine day with a brilliant blue sky. Rambling roses were blooming all over Tirion and the songbirds were singing. Mornel was playing a game of chess with Glorfindel on the balcony of a teahouse.  

“And so Laurelosse convinced Uncle Ara and Aunt Earwen to let her go to Lady Nessa’s to learn dance…” Mornel reported on her younger cousin’s choice to be a dancer. Formal dancing at court balls and receptions was acceptable but to dance as a form of performance art was considered scandalous by many nobles. Even Glorfindel’s parents had been shocked when his little sister announced her decision.  Of course her choice of dance might have something to do with it. The dance style did require an elleth to show quite a bit of her legs with the whirling skirts and high kicks. It was highly popular with the common elves rather than the nobility. In one of the seedier taverns, Mornel had witnessed a dancer render a particularly persistent ellon out cold with a single kick.

“So how’s Arakano?” Glorfindel asked. Uncle Ara had given Arakano a chance to prove himself as Tirion’s envoy to Numenor. Sadly, Arakano seemed to have developed an over-fondness for the heady Numenorean liquor. This vice had already landed him in trouble on many occasions. It seemed a pity this could destroy an otherwise promising career.

Despite his faults, Mornel felt her cousin had the potential to go far. Arakano proved that he had a special talent in osanwe. Mornel had been surprised when he first used osanwe to communicate with her on a camping trip in south Aman and her miles away in Formenos. Most elves could only use osanwe with their parents, spouse, siblings, or children, and often in close proximity. Glorfindel then taught her how to shut him out if she got sick of hearing him bawl some naughty drinking song in her mind.

“Apologetic. Uncle Ara is giving him another chance. I do hope he will sober up soon. He is gifted in many aspects.”

“I agree. Overindulgence in drink is…” Glorfindel frowned and broke off mid-sentence. Without another word, he vaulted over the balustrade. He apologized when he jostled a startled waiter below, causing him to spill his water pitcher over a luckless nis.

“Cousin?” Mornel stood up hurriedly in shock, upsetting the chessboard. She saw a glimpse of gold as her cousin vanished down an alley. Mornel vaulted over the balustrade and gave chase.

“Stop! Why do you run from us?” Glorfindel called out. The hooded nis he had been following paused. The alley she had fled down ended in a dead end. It had been too long since she was last in the city. Tirion has changed much during her absence. Slowly, she turned to face her pursuers and lowered her hood.

“Lady Elenwe,” Mornel gasped, recognizing the golden-haired, blue-eyed nis from the many paintings that lined the walls of Aunt Anaire’s home. She could see the similarity to Idril in the gold of her tresses and the fine cheekbones.

“My lady, how long have you been out?” Glorfindel asked. It was common practice for the Maiar to inform parents of the impending return of their children from Mandos. Apparently the courtesy did not extend to their children. Idril had not mentioned anything about her amil returning. As far as they knew, Idril was sailing off the southern coast of Aman with her husband.

Elenwe was thin and pale. She looked on the verge of fainting. Mornel wondered if she had left Lorien well before she was strong enough. Worried, Mornel took her by the elbow. The Vanya nis flinched at her touch. She looked frightened.

“Come with us, please,” Mornel coaxed. “Aunt Anaire’s place is just…”

Elenwe shook her head. “The palace then. I have a set of rooms there. We can use the servants’ gate,” Mornel suggested.

* * *

 

“Damn those pious hypocrites…” Glorfindel muttered. Mornel made a sign they had learnt from a small Avari tribe in the northern Pelori. Glorfindel’s jaw dropped from shock but he nodded in agreement with the sentiment expressed. 

Lady Elenwe was now resting in Mornel’s bedchamber. It had been twenty cycles of the Sun since she was returned to the care of her parents, a strictly pious Vanyar couple. Apparently, some Vanyar had some very strange ideas about elves returning from Mandos. An unpleasant surprise awaited the many brave Vanya warriors who still lingered in Mandos on their return.

“Non-stop prayers for days, fasting, confinement… They undid all the good work of the Maiar of Lorien!” Glorfindel complained. “She now thinks it’s her fault for dying and leaving her husband and child. And Lord Namo certainly does not require wives to wait for their husbands to be released together with them. Her parents are followers of the Sacred Order of the Valar, joined it during the Darkening.” Elenwe had recognized Glorfindel from before the Darkening as a close friend of her husband. She was more inclined to confide in him than an unknown nis who closely resembled the fearsome Prince Curufinwe.

“Oh that sect of holy pains-in-the-neck…” Mornel shook her head. She had had her own share of run-ins with the group. The sect had the support of the High King Ingwe but their numbers were dwindling now with Prince Ingwion’s more open-minded approach to religion. They followed a strict interpretation of the laws of the Valar and a code of conduct many scholars, Prince Ingil of the Vanyar included, now believed was created by an early Vanya priest out of boredom.

“She’s scared of her family because she ran off without their permission,” Glorfindel added. “Are you going to tell Uncle Ara?”

“No, not yet,” Mornel sighed. She fumbled at her desk for a quill and parchment. Perhaps a discreet letter to Grandmother Indis or Crown Princess Elsornie might help. The Vanyar acknowledged the authority of parents over their children and placed great emphasis upon it. Without her husband, Elenwe had little recourse. Bringing the Noldoran in at this point might be poking a diplomatic hornets’ nest. 

“Will you tell Idril?” Glorfindel asked. “She does not wish her child to know…”

“Eventually, but not now,” Mornel glanced over to the bedroom door behind which Elenwe rested. “She needs to regain her strength first. Then perhaps Idril can visit.” It would take time for Idril and her husband to return from their cruise.

* * *

 

_Months later…_

“I can’t believe it!” Idril complained. “After everything they did to her, Amme is still returning to Valmar…”

“But not to your grandparents’, thankfully. Crown Princess Elsornie has offered your amil a place in the palace among her ladies,” Mornel reassured. “Now, go to her before she leaves…”

The princess’ protection should keep Elenwe safe, until her parents came round to their senses. Despite Anaire’s and Idril’s pleas for her to remain in Tirion or move to Tol Eressea, Lady Elenwe had grown homesick for her childhood city. Perhaps Tirion held too many memories of her absent husband.

Lady Elenwe’s health had recovered to a great extent but it was clear to all the harsh treatment by her family had affected her greatly. Earwen’s suggestion that Elenwe return to Lorien for healing had been refused by Elenwe for fear her parents would seek her out there despite the Maiar’s reassurances. Arakano had managed to contact Idril and Tuor off Tol Eressea using osanwe. After which, Mornel had to shut him out of her mind when her cousin cheekily attempted to convey a mental image of what the happy couple were doing in the surf. There were some things one need not know about one’s family members.

Idril had grown from the little girl her mother recalled into a strong-willed, daring elf, and everything her parents deemed scandalous in a nis. It was no surprise that Idril had not visited her maternal grandparents in many yeni. The sight of Tuor had greatly alarmed Elenwe and she found it difficult to accept her law-son.

A familiar and friendly face, Glorfindel had been of great help in reassuring the poor nis. Aunt Anaire and Earwen had simply intimidated her despite their best attempts to put her at ease. Mornel thought it a pity it was impossible for her to get close to Elenwe for Mornel was simply too much like Feanaro in her looks. Elenwe reacted to her like a startled doe. Instead, Mornel vacated her rooms in the palace to free them for Elenwe’s recovery. She then moved into the rooms in Glorfindel’s apartment recently vacated by Laurelosse across the city.

Outside the palace gate, the wagon had been loaded with gifts and Elenwe’s few belongings from her law-mother’s house for her return to Valmar. Idril went to bid her mother farewell with a kiss. Tuor hung back awkwardly. He would have liked to envelop them in a hug but that would be too much for Elenwe. Gingerly, Glorfindel helped Elenwe into the wagon, ensuring she was comfortable. He then gave the order for the driver to set off.

“She wasn’t always like this, you know,” Glorfindel murmured. “Lady Elenwe was always smiling back then. It was rare to see her afraid or sad.” He turned to Tuor and suggested they head back to the kitchens for some drink.

“Amme used to sing and dance,” Idril added after the wagon had vanished through the gate. “Even on the Ice, she sang to the elflings to keep them from being scared of the dark. She was so brave.” She was sad that her mother had been reduced to a pale shadow of her former self.

“With Lady Este’s blessings and a safe place in Princess Elsornie’s household, she will regain her spirit…” Queen Earwen consoled the younger nis.

The elves were quietly consoled by Prince Ingwion’s assurances that any future Vanyar returning from Mandos would be monitored to ensure that they would not be subject to unnecessary suffering at the hands of their over-pious kin. There was still much Mornel had to learn about how to ease the returnees back into Eldar society. She resolved to pay a visit to Lorien to learn more before her brothers were released from Mandos. Perhaps she might appeal to Lady Este that other relatives be also informed of their kin’s return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one situation where Mornel is not much use since her resemblance to Feanor works against her. 
> 
> Are there any religious fundamentalist elves? I think if the Valar had not taken a hands-off approach after that disaster with Finwe’s love-life and the War of Wrath, they might want to have a bit of a chat with the sect for their treatment of family members returning from Mandos.


	8. Hard Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elenwe slowly recovers from her ordeal. The Vanyar take a good hard look at the more extreme sects living in their midst.

_Valmar._  Mornel yawned and peered out of their coach at the pealing of many bells. They were fast approaching the city. At Ingil’s advice, she had left Fearocco in the Woods of Orome where the cantankerous stallion would no doubt make sport of the hunters. She pushed aside a stray scroll as the coach hit a rut and a trunk popped open. The Vanya scholar-prince had been visiting the vast archives in Tirion for his studies. With the Noldoran’s blessings, Ingil had copied several dozen scrolls which were now scattered in the close confines of the coach.

“Do you suppose your grandfather will meet you?” Mornel asked.

“Highly unlikely. But I will be visiting my parents at the palace,” Ingil tucked a stray lock behind his ear and stuffed a scroll back into the already overflowing trunk. He had been working throughout the night on a treatise and ink stained his fingertips. More ink stained the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Mornel, is there anything wrong with us paying homage to the Valar through fasting and prayer?” Ingil asked suddenly. Recent investigations headed by Crown Prince Ingwion in Valmar had caused much soul-searching not only in the city but throughout Aman. There had also been some unhappiness between the High King and his son over the questioning of several high-ranking nobles who were staunch adherents of the sect under investigation.

“No, provided they were done reasonably and of one’s free will,” Mornel replied diplomatically. The dowager-queen Indis held the occasional vigil with fasting and prayers but they never reached the extremes practiced by certain misguided elves.

“Most elves end up in Mandos through no fault of theirs. If the Doomsman has deemed them fit to be returned to Aman, who are we to judge them otherwise?” Mornel added. “Even the Ban has been lifted from the Exiles and many have returned to Valinor.”

“It will be a sad thing if our brave warriors from the War of Wrath were to have days of needless fasting and prayers imposed upon them after their return from Lorien,” Ingil admitted. His parents were still waiting for the return of his twin sisters from Mandos where they had been lingering since they were killed in the war. Mornel quietly reflected that it was a pity Turgon had yet to return from the Halls of Waiting. His presence might reassure his wife, who had suffered much under her misguided parents.

* * *

 

The sound of laughter greeted them as they strolled into the Crown Princess’ parlour. Several ladies were clapping as two of their companions danced. The dancers were Idril and her mother Elenwe. Mornel was surprised to see her cousin Idril there as Tuor was known to be sailing off Araman. It was rare for the couple to be apart. Perhaps Valmar’s many rules did not agree with Tuor.

Elenwe paused in mid-step and the smile died on her lips when she saw Mornel. Idril ran forward to greet Mornel with a hug. Lady Elsornie went to greet her son from where she had been watching among the spectators. Ingil greeted his mother with a kiss on her cheek. Mother and son drew slightly apart from the others to share a private word or two. Ever discreetly aware of their lady’s wishes, the ladies scattered off to attend to their needlework in the far corner or fetch some refreshments from the kitchens. One of the nissi started strumming a harp softly.

“Amme, come, this is Cousin Mornel. She is my friend and our kinswoman whom I have told you so much about…” Idril urged her mother. Failing to get Elenwe to move, she took Mornel by the hand and pulled her towards her mother.

“Y-you look so much like him… S-sorry, I was startled…” Elenwe stammered.

“It’s alright, I am not my atar,” Mornel smiled and tried to reassure the nervous nis. “Idril, I think we could use some refreshment.  Those cushions look comfortable…” she nodded at a large cushioned divan on which three elves could comfortably sit.

Idirl took the hint and urged her mother to sit beside her on the divan. Mornel sat down on Idril’s other side. One of Elsornie’s ladies returned with some iced lemonade and light wafers flavoured with rose petals. Elenwe warily accepted the glass of lemonade offered to her.

“Amme, I have told you so much about Mornel and the new Formenos under her,” Idril reminded her. Elenwe nodded.

“Y-yes, she is much like her atto… and yet she is not like him…” Elenwe conceded.

“Why is it you fear Granduncle Feanaro so much, amme?” Idril asked suddenly.

“Because I was there when he threatened your grandfather with a sword. I saw the madness in him then. Then there was that dreadful Oath he swore with his sons… It ruined them all… I’m sorry,” she turned to Mornel. “I know none of it is your fault but I cannot help but remember those dark days…”

“I understand,” Mornel replied. After so long, her likeness to her father still caused some elves to be wary of her. In deference to Vanyar customs, she had worn a dress instead of the leggings she preferred when travelling, yet the likeness was still enough to cause Elenwe discomfort.

“Amme, you should come to stay at Formenos for a while. Grandaunt Lalwen has a farm near there. You were friends, were you not? You will love the place and Cousin Mornel is not that scary once you get to know her…” Idril chirped. She gave Mornel’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“But I heard that it is so cold up north…”

“It’s not that bad in summer. In fact, it is lots of fun with the Midsummer festival. There’s singing and dancing… It’s all to honour the Valar, of course,” Idril smiled. She had spent many fond summer nights with her husband under the stars near Formenos.  Mornel coughed. She wondered what Elenwe would make of the rather raucous celebrations of the Nandor and Avari.

“How is Tuor?” Mornel asked.

“We just received a letter from him this morning. He is now staying at our law-daughter’s tower for a week to catch up with Earendil. Elwing also sent a portrait of our son she painted herself for amme but the Eagle got caught in a shower on the way,” Idril took out and unrolled a damp square of canvas from her skirts. “I doubt it can be fixed.”

Mornel chuckled at the sight revealed. Even Elenwe had to smile. Half of Earendil’s face was a smudge of hazy yellows, greens, and blues. The half that remained untouched was a fair enough likeness.

“It reminds me of your law-sister Quildenen’s work. She was experimenting with a new style of portrait before her wedding. She was Curufinwe the younger’s wife,” Elenwe explained for Idril’s benefit. Turgon had kept his daughter away from the Feanorions when they reached Beleriand.

“Is she still in Mandos?” Mornel asked. It would be polite to visit her law-sister if she was back in Aman.

“She was still there when I left,” Elenwe replied. “If she ever chooses to leave, she would probably return to her parents. She had a son in Beleriand… It’s a pity he did not sail when the Host returned.” Her confidence around Mornel was growing and she was no longer flinching as much as she once did.

“Lady Mornel, we have great news!” Ingil declared. The ner was beaming ear to ear. “My sisters are to be returned to us soon.”

Mornel’s breath hitched. The twin sisters of Ingil had sworn not to return without their beloveds from Mandos. Their beloveds were the twin sons of Feanor. The princesses’ return could only mean that her two brothers were soon to return to Aman. Perhaps a message had also been sent out from Lorien to Alqualonde where their mother Nerdanel now lived. 

_How would her brothers adapt to the new Valinor? Would they be accepted by the rest of the Eldar?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am slowly moving onto the return of the Feanorions. It is likely Elenwe will remain in Valmar until her husband returns from Mandos.


	9. Double Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ambarussa return to a future of hope and uncertainty in Aman. Crown Prince Ingwion’s twin daughters return from Mandos.

**Double Happiness**

Apparently it was not all smooth sailing for the first of the Feanorions to return from Mandos. When the first whispers of their impending return were leaked out, a dozen angry elves turned up at Nerdanel’s workshop. Thankfully, her apprentices and neighbours were able to hold them at bay until King Olwe’s guards arrived to send them on their way. Lord Irmo’s Maiar had to send another such mob packing at Lorien.

The three kings of the Eldar were called to an urgent meeting by the Valar at the Ring of Doom to discuss whether it would be feasible to have all elves from Middle-Earth pledge to leave all grudges behind, including those against the House of Feanor. The High King Ingwe suggested it might be more prudent to have the Feanorions’ movements restricted to Formenos upon their return. His suggestion was swiftly vetoed by Arafinwe, Olwe, and even Lord Orome of the Valar.

Sadly, that meant the return of the Ambarussa and that of Ingwe’s own granddaughters was delayed. Wiser now, the Maiar of Lord Irmo were more wary when informing Nerdanel of her sons impending return. Definitely not in the middle of the town square on market-day.

Months passed and Mornel wondered if her brothers would be free to walk in Aman ever. Finally, Mornel was quietly approached by a Maia in her rooms in Tirion one day. Without saying even a word to her uncle, she left the city and made her way to Lorien.

“What’s taking them so long?” Lady Elsornie fretted. Nerdanel patiently waited in silence.

“Perhaps they need time to regain the use of their hroar, Mornel suggested. It had been almost two full days of waiting before the Maiar summoned them. They were now waiting outside a nondescript hut guarded by two grey-robed Maiar. Ingwion was not present, but had sent his son instead.

 “What will my sisters think of me?” Ingil fretted.

“That you are a scholar the equal of Master Rumil, and be proud you are their little brother,” Mornel reassured him.

“I saw something move in there,” Nerdanel suddenly broke her silence and nodded at the dim doorway.

A redhead ner and pale blond nis clad in white stepped out of the building, their hands entwined and looking like a handfasted couple. They were closely followed by their twins. This time, the ner was trying to lift the nis over the threshold in his arms. He failed to do so given his weakened state and stumbled, dropping his female companion and knocking the first couple off their feet as well. The quartet sprawled laughing on the grass amidst much gentle admonishment by the Maiar and their concerned relatives.

 _They are so alike!_ Mornel thought as she saw both her twin brothers for the first time. _Same copper red hair like Amme – Oh, wait, Telvo’s is a shade darker._

“You had to do something unexpected, didn’t you?” Telvo chided his twin, who grinned sheepishly. The twins disentangled themselves and went to greet their teary-eyed mothers. Nerdanel hugged and kissed both her sons, as did Elsornie her daughters. Mornel and Ingil stood aside to allow their mothers time to get re-acquainted with their offspring. Then Elsornie waved her son over and introduced him to his sisters while he fidgeted shyly. Mornel’s introduction to her brothers was far more raucous. Both twins decided to try lifting off her feet in a hug and failed. The trio tumbled onto the ground in a laughing heap to more chiding from the Maiar.

“Ai, you’ll hurt yourselves!” Nerdanel scolded. Her concerns were not unfounded. After the initial exhilaration of their reunion, the quartet were utterly spent. There was a brief argument about how they should be housed. Both sets of twins refused to let the other out of their sight. In the end a spacious cottage was assigned to them and a chaperone in the form of Aunt Findis. Their beds were in sight of each other but Nerdanel judged that her sons would be too tired for any mischief.

* * *

 

The weeks that followed were surprisingly peaceful. There were no angry mobs descending on Lorien as feared. The couples spent long hours watching the flowers bloom and listening to birdsong, often with their hands entwined with their twin’s or their beloved’s. Aunt Findis was pleasantly surprised how well-behaved her nephews were given the tales she had heard of their fey nature. Perhaps their twin Vanyar fiancées were a stabilizing influence on them.

Visitors were few during those days. News of the twins’ return had yet to spread far. Glorfindel came with news from Tirion. The Noldoran was concerned about his niece and nephews. Finrod and Amarie visited with their son. Celeglass got along immensely well with the Ambarussa.

Mornel knew from speaking with her relatives that the twins were very close, they allowed few to intrude on their inner circle. She was honoured that the Ambarussa had sought to include her within the circle. They had shared tales of their brothers before the Darkening. Telvo had related his interactions with the Nandor in Beleriand and was pleasantly surprised when Mornel shared her own tales of Formenos’ Nandor neighbours. The Ambarussa accepted Mornel not only as a younger sibling but as their equal.

Knowing the couples’ intention to wed, Nerdanel and Mahtan had arranged for a matchmaker to discreetly approach the nissi’s parents. It was all in keeping with protocol for most part. Yet Mornel sensed there was a shadow over her brothers and their beloveds.

“What if Grandfather should refuse? Has anyone told him yet?”

“Atto and Amme already gave their blessings…”

“We will go and speak with him if need be, to convince him of our sincerity…”

“You can’t! Grandfather will be furious!”

Mornel had not meant to overhear them. Findis was away teaching new healers in another hut. Mornel was returning from an enjoyable trot on Fearocco. She cautiously peered around the corner of the cottage. Isilmire and Lomire were sitting under the peach tree with their beaus’ heads cradled in their laps. Mornel noted how much the couples tended to mirror each other. _Lomire and Pityo. Isilmire and Telvo._

A soft cough interrupted the couples. It was Ingil.

“I could try to reason with him…” Ingil suggested. He had stayed behind after his mother returned to Valmar to compile a treatise on healing herbs under Findis’ guidance. However, Mornel suspected he just wanted to spend more time with his sisters.

“Thank you, little brother.”

Mornel decided it was time for her to make her presence known and stepped out from behind the cottage with a greeting. The High King’s disapproval was expected but it would have to be dealt with.

* * *

 

At long last it was time for them to leave Lorien. Ingil secured a carriage for his sisters to travel in. Mornel found a pair of mild-tempered but sturdy ponies for her brothers to ride on. The couples had exchanged small tokens of betrothal while their younger siblings were arranging their transport. When she returned from the stables, the Ambarussa were each missing a copper braid clip from their hair and had gained a woven grass bracelet around their wrists.

“How does this go again? Isilmire and her sister go home to Valmar with Ingil. We go home to Formenos with you. Amme and Grandfather sort things out with their folks and we get married hopefully after a series of Vanyarin betrothal rites?” Pityo asked.

“I wish we can do it the way the Nandor do theirs – under the stars, with a great party afterwards. Cousin Turukano’s wedding was a real bore…” Telvo said

“I know, you fell asleep halfway through!” Pityo laughed along with his twin. Mornel noticed how their eyes kept glancing at Ingil’s carriage. The sisters would be inside waiting for the servants to finish packing Ingil’s numerous scrolls.

“We will build a willow hut, or two by the lake…” Telvo mused as the carriage set off. “Just like Moryo did to get away from the keep…”

“And we covered his blankets with fish-bones while he was out fishing,” Pityo added. They had been notorious pranksters in those bygone days. The trio paused at the thought of their absent brother. Caranthir had decided to remain in Mandos indefinitely. No one was looking forward to breaking the news to his wife Helwien.

“We better get started then, if we are to reach Formenos in time for the harvest,” Mornel declared. With a gentle nudge, she urged Fearocco into a sedate walk. The stallion nickered his annoyance but set a pace slow enough for the ponies to follow.

The twins had changed, Nerdanel saw that before she returned to Tol Eressea. They were no longer her little boys to be cossetted and fussed over. Their experiences during the Darkening and in Beleriand had left their mark on the pair. Likewise, the War of Wrath had marked Isilmire and Lomire. They were more serious now. Elsornie had also noticed the change in her daughters.

Typically, the disciples of the Lady were celibate and lived their eternal lives in Lorien. However, Lady Este had given her blessings to the sisters to leave her service in Lorien and marry, so that they might bring healing beyond the confines of Lorien. Even if the High King opposed the union, the Valar had given their approval.

 _All will be well,_ Fearocco reassured Mornel as they set forth. _The road will be rocky for our lovebirds but it will work out eventually._

_Do you truly think so, Fearocco?_

_Aye, if not they could always elope with their parents’ blessings._   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of the Feanorions are headed home to Formenos.


	10. Twin Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ambarussa get concerned about their beloveds and cause a headache for Mornel.

Without Isilmire and Lomire, the twins were proving increasingly rambunctious as they regained their strength. Mornel sparred with them in her free time and rode with them through the nearby woods. There were scrolls and books in the library for them to read but they soon grew bored.

Nerdanel made a rare journey to Formenos after receiving a letter from Mahtan detailing the latest mischief her sons got up to involving the laundry hut and Helwien’s best blue dye. The twins narrowly dodged a kinslaying when Helwien found out what happened. Mornel talked her brothers into assisting their law-sister’s apprentices in making another batch of the dye so that a shipment of blue cloth could be sent to Tirion for the uniforms of their uncle’s guards before their swearing-in ceremony. As for the elves of Formenos, everyone was sick of the colour blue for a quite a while afterwards.

“Whatever shall we do with you?” Nerdanel shook her head in exasperation at the chaos her sons had unleashed in the kitchens. The irate pastry cook and her assistants were being mollified by Mornel in the servants’ hall while the pranksters set about cleaning up the flour coated everywhere.

“Sorry, Amme…” both twins hung their heads but exchanged winks when Nerdanel left them to their chores.

* * *

 

“I’ve not convinced Caniel to stay. So I will write a recommendation for her to work at Ingwion’s…” Mornel explained when Nerdanel walked in on her writing a letter.

“Is that wise? Her skills…” Nerdanel winced.

“Oh, her meat pies are a lost cause but her fruit flans are acceptable… I do know for a fact that Ingwion’s household do not eat meat pies - some Vanyar custom about not mixing pastries and meats,” Mornel smiled. “Moreover, Ingwion’s pastry cook has recently tendered his resignation and run off to serve Lord Orome as a hunter. How are things with Isilmire and Lomire?” Nerdanel and Mahtan had visited Valmar recently to negotiate the final details for the wedding of her sons.

“Oh,” Nerdanel snorted. “Those pious Vanyar idiots took to the streets and demanded Ingwe’s granddaughters undertake that fasting and prayer penance. Ingwion came out and told them all to go home because he isn’t going to put his daughters through that nonsense. The High King finally had enough and ordered his guards to see them off when the protesters got a bit rowdy. The last thing we heard before leaving the city is that Ingwe has called for an urgent council meeting to pass a bill on the protection of the rights of the re-embodied. Apparently, if anyone forces their kin to go through that penance stuff now without their consent, they are looking at a term of exile from the city, not just a small fine.”  

“At least that is a step forward. Ingil has already assembled several top Vanyar priests to debunk a lot of their superstitious nonsense, with consultations with various Maiar of course. The Valar like to drag their feet about making an official declaration on anything since the Darkening. He actually found the ellon who wrote that Vanyar perfect conduct code – our former priest is now running about with a clan of Avari under the name ‘Running Hare’. Piercings and tattoos all over,” Mornel chortled. “He’s their shaman. Lord Irmo gave him a major epiphany one night and he just took off into the wild living off berries and mushrooms until the tribe took him in.”

“The only thing stopping Ingil from presenting the panel’s conclusions is his stubborn old grandfather but this changes things,” Nerdanel conceded. “I hope none of those brave Vanyar warriors have to go through the same thing as poor Elenwe…”

“Never fear, amme. I checked with Master Olorin. For those whose parents are suspected to follow that sect’s beliefs, the Maiar now inform other loved ones, or notify Prince Ingwion or Lady Indis so that they might keep an eye on things. Most of the warriors are still in Mandos healing. A few were released with no major incidents…”

“Seriously? What about that poor lad whose parents were both pious fanatics? Your grandfather heard about him from the servants at Prince Ingwion’s. They actually moved him away from their house when Ingwion’s men came to check.” There were always a few stubborn elves who clung to their cloak of pious hypocrisy.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. His sister got him off their family’s country estate with the aid of her warriors. She has already sent a letter to Prince Ingwion, her parents, and me, in case there is any uproar about a kidnapping.” Mornel then related the tale of the pious couple’s estranged daughter who had rebelled against her strict upbringing. She had taken off into the wilds as a disciple of Lady Vana before ending up wedded to a Nandor chieftain who roamed the woods near Formenos.

“The same harridan they say went dagger-to-dagger with Tatie after she smacked her husband’s backside at the Midsummer Festival?” Nerdanel shook her head in disbelief. Mornel nodded. The disciples of Vana were known for their lack of inhibition and wildness. Some were said to eschew clothing entirely and feed off raw meat.

“Relax, they did not raze the manor to the ground after the raid, but a particularly tiresome steward had to be locked in the cellar.”

“All these tales of the Vanyar ill-treating their re-embodied kin…” Nerdanel shuddered. It took a lot to faze her amme but Mornel knew there had been some rather shocking incidents uncovered. Just last week, Ingil wrote to her of a Vanya elfling who had died in an accident some years back. His parents apparently took it on themselves to cleanse him of his death on his return by flogging him bloody, before they were stopped by horrified neighbours. The child was now a thriving ward of Ingwion’s household while his parents were undergoing some serious counselling by the Maiar in Lorien. 

“The worst part is that they actually believe they were doing right by their kin,” Mornel sealed the letter for her former pastry cook. Hopefully, they could find a decent replacement before the Yule Fest where meat pies were a favourite.

* * *

 

“Telvo, do you think Isilmire and Lomire are alright?” Pityo asked as they emptied their buckets of dirty water onto a luckless cat sleeping under the kitchen window.

“Sorry, kitty!” Telvo called out an apology after the hissing cat. “I don’t know… I mean, Ingwion is alright, I guess… but His Pious Pain-in-the-Butt Ingwe?”

“He wouldn’t hurt his granddaughters, would he?”

“I wish Lomire and Isilmire are here with us…”

“I know – let’s bring them here. I am sure Mornel will not mind. I am sure she can open Curufin’s old room for them to use. I know we are not supposed to see them before the wedding but to Morgoth with those tiresome Vanyar customs!”

* * *

 

The next morning found two swift horses missing from the stables, two empty beds, and Mornel in one of her rare tempers as she clutched a crumpled letter that had been left on her writing table.  

“Pityo! Telvo!” Mornel shrieked, causing everyone in earshot to look up from their work as she threatened vengeance on her brothers. _The Ambarussa have done it this time._ Nerdanel stoically packed a generous lunch hamper for her daughter. Mornel’s temper would cool soon but the twins would still have some serious explaining to do.

“I guess you are up now, horse,” Helwien glanced over at Fearocco’s stall as she brushed her pony’s mane. The stallion tossed his head. The twins had taken two of the fastest horses in the stables but they were no match for Fearocco’s speed and stamina. Mornel could catch up to her brothers by lunch and have them back by tomorrow if she had a mind to.

As it turned out, she caught up to them by mid-morning. A lost horseshoe had slowed them down considerably.

“Pityo, Telvo, what were you thinking?”

“We just wanted to check on Lomire and Isilmire…” Telvo fidgeted under Mornel’s fierce glare. At times like this, she reminded the twins of their father. Pityo was looking similarly sheepish. Their reckless plan to snatch their beloveds away from their father’s house in Valmar could easily spark off a diplomatic row between the Vanyar and Noldor royal courts. Ingwe would have a fit and it would be a mercy if there was not another kinslaying in Aman.

“Do you seriously think Ingwion will allow any of that cleansing or penance nonsense to be carried out under his roof? I think the most trying thing Isilmire and Lomire have to do is getting new gowns for their wedding fitted at the dressmaker’s!” 

It was more likely Lady Elsornie would ignore royal tradition and sew her daughters’ gowns herself. The Crown Princess had inherited her father’s talent with a needle and boasted a keen eye for colour. The twins had written regularly to Mornel. Lady Elenwe was recovering and helping the Princess in the wedding arrangements. Understandably, she was not keen on meeting her parents yet. It would be some time before reconciliation could be considered.  

The trio stopped to share Mornel’s lunch hamper before returning to Formenos at a walking pace. Telvo’s horse had gone lame after losing its shoe. To avoid wearing out Pityo’s horse, the twins both decided to walk. Mornel joined them on foot, much to Fearocco’s disdain. The son of Nahar kicked his hooves and galloped off for a quick visit to Lord Orome’s.  

“Was it hard, looking so much like Atto?” Pityo blurted out suddenly.

“Well, I have had difficulties, but we have worked things out,” Mornel replied.

“It used to bother Curufin when he was still learning at the forge,” Telvo added. “We think he was so good at smithing because he had to live up to everyone’s expectations of him as Atto’s son.”

“I am me. Curufin’s Curufin and Atto’s Atto,” Mornel replied. “I am no smith. I know a bit about healing and music. I do some wood-carving in my spare time. I like riding and archery. I can speak with most birds.” 

Now that she had more time to know her brothers, she could tell them apart more readily. Telvo was more outgoing while his twin was more reserved. Pityo had a sensitive and nurturing side to him. Already he had nursed an injured ferret and fostered a brood of orphaned goslings during his convalescence. Telvo was a skilled woodworker and could turn a piece of wood into a toy for the elflings with a few deft strokes of his knife.

“I still have nightmares at times, about Alqualonde, and burning ships …” Pityo admitted. “Amme says we have to go to see her workshop at Alqualonde…”

“It’s alright. I have written to King Olwe. His people no longer bear us any grudges,” Mornel reassured her brothers. _Although the Teleri might want to welcome the Feanorions with a prank or two._

“I get nightmares too, not only about Alqualonde, but Doriath and Sirion too…” Telvo whispered quietly, his normal cheer dampened. He touched the bracelet Isilmire had given him as their betrothal token. “We wonder if it is right to marry and…” He sounded so young and fragile, a far cry from the blood-soaked warrior many claimed he was.

“Oh, Elbereth!” Mornel rolled her eyes. “Look here, Lord Namo sent you two back so that all four of you can have a new beginning and a new life in Aman. If need be, go apologize to those you have wronged. Most of them will be forgiving…”

“Even Elwing and Earendil?” the twins asked.

“Let them have some time to think it over first. I wrote to them and they know you are back. I don’t see either of them storming up to Formenos so I think that should be a good sign,” Mornel interjected. There was also Earendil’s Silmaril and it would be a real test of whether any remnants of the Oath still remained to blight her brothers’ fear. She had been warned that not all memories from their first lives were so readily forgotten or put aside. It was noted by the healers of Lorien that many of those who had perished on the Grinding Ice were more sensitive to the cold even in their new bodies. Elenwe wore wool or linen dresses even in Valmar where others wore light cotton or airy silks. Having burnt to death in his first life, Pityo was wary of any open flame. 

“I will go with you to Alqualonde and maybe Elwing’s tower if she will have you visit. Arakano is expected to come to Formenos with gifts from Uncle Ara for the wedding. Whatever happens we will face it together as Finweans,” Mornel promised.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight reversal of roles here – Mornel is acting as guardian to her older brothers. 
> 
> I doubt the twins or any of the re-embodied elves could forget their first lives, the good and bad memories included. Then there are those who never went through the healing of Mandos or Lorien and might still bear grudges. 
> 
> I seriously got the Ambarussa’s names messed up and will be working on that. 
> 
> I like to imagine Lord Orome and his lady as being similar to the more primal Hunt deities of European mythology like in the Wild Hunt.


	11. A Thread in the Tapestry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caranthir questions his feelings about returning to Aman and his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A break from the usual Mornel interactions.

“That wretch!” Helwien had kept it in as long as she could.

She had feigned indifference to the news her twin law-brothers brought from Mandos. It had simmered in her heart throughout her stay in Formenos and the long journey back to Tirion to deliver a shipment of blue cloth. It was in the building which had once been her workshop but was now a storehouse for her guild’s stock of dyed fabrics that the anger overwhelmed her as she slaked her thirst with a mug of strong tea.

A hapless clerk just stepping into the building narrowly dodged the mug she flung at the door-post. Seeing the dark look on her face, he chose to make a hasty departure instead. She had been drinking tea from a mug at the same spot when her husband came during the Darkening.

_“Grandfather is dead. We will avenge him, with or without the Valar’s aid!”_

_“Have your wits been addled by the dark? Why should we leave Tirion because your father is determined to get us all killed by Morgoth?”_

_“My atto says we will succeed in recovering the Silmarils and avenging Grandfather!”_

_“Then Prince Feanaro has indeed lost his mind with grief.”_

The argument had rapidly gone south from there with their equally-matched tempers and pride. The last she saw of Morifinwe Carnister was when she literally forced him from her workshop with her broom.

* * *

 

“Little one,” Miriel put down her ever-busy needle. “We must speak of your decision…”

Caranthir looked up from where he was busy sorting the colours of silken thread. His shade shivered in the lamplight of Vaire’s Halls.

“What’s there to speak of?” his voice was the barest whisper. It was hard for a one not yet granted a body to speak outside the Halls overseen by Vaire’s husband.

“Her. Do you still remember the vows you exchanged?” Caranthir looked away at her words and Miriel knew she had struck a nerve.

“I give her leave to take another spouse by remaining here…”

“Does she wish it so? Has she cast eyes upon another since your parting? I have no need for your help here. Go back to the Halls and seek out the tapestries of our House,” Miriel threaded a needle and started on the latest tapestry. This one would be of the preparations for the double wedding of her youngest grandsons.

Caranthir drifted past various tapestries until he reached the one depicting the tumultuous first meeting with his Helwien. They had been rivals at first, then friends, before becoming more than friends. A warm glow filled his fea at the memories.

_Too much has changed… I cannot go back to her. She will never have me back…_

_Are you sure, cousin?_

Caranthir spun around and scowled at Aegnor, who had somehow managed to pull himself away from the halls where the tapestries of his beloved Andreth hung.

_Do not make the same mistakes I did… Do not give up love… She loves you still…_

_Begone, Arafinwion!_ Anger flared in Caranthir but Aegnor only smiled and drifted off.

Caranthir scanned the tapestries, tracing the life of his wife since their parting. She had dedicated herself to her craft, researching and perfecting dyes and techniques. Helwien had taken in many apprentices over the years, housing them under her roof on many occasions, but she had never acted in any way that would give rise to any rumours of infidelity.

_Could there be still hope despite their quarrel?_

During the Darkening, his mother had taken Feanor back into her heart and her bed despite their estrangement.  She had borne him a child, whose quickening and birth almost sent her to Mandos.

 _They have no children…_ The bitterness bit at his heart, just for a fleeting moment.  Offspring were viewed by many of the Eldar as the natural product of a union blessed by the Valar. On hindsight, any child born to him and Helwien would have had to fend for him or herself from birth given their dedication to their crafts. He could not imagine his wife nursing a baby while stirring a vat of dye.

Maglor had already made his decision with regards to his Serelinde. The faithless wench had bound herself to a Teleri prince in quick order. The fickle Valar had blessed that union.  Curufin’s wife still lingered in Mandos, apart from her spouse. None of the Feanorions had not spoken to her since they entered Mandos. 

 _Go back to her…_ Lady Nienna coaxed. She was clad in her grey raiment and had come from tending to those fear most severely in need of her ministrations.

 _I will when I am ready…_ Caranthir replied.  He did not feel confident yet. What if he was wrong? What if she rejected him? He could not face that yet.

 _You will find the strength needed,_ the Valie replied. _You will know when you are ready…_

_I need to speak with my Atto._

_Curufinwe Feanaro is not exactly a stellar role model in some aspects of married life,_ Lord Namo smilingly added as he joined his sister in the hall. Caranthir grumpily took his leave of the Valar and left, not for where Feanor lingered still in the form of a fiery pillar but headed to where his Uncle Nolofinwe resided with his remaining sons.

* * *

 

“Think Caranthir really intends to remain in Mandos like Cousin Aegnor?” Telvo asked quietly as he adjusted his belt. They were busy being measured for the customary bridegroom’s robes needed for a Vanyar wedding. Under their mother’s watchful eye, two tailors from Tirion hard at work.

“Nah, he would get bored out of his mind if Grandmother kicks him out of the tapestry-weaving hall. You know Lady Vaire made an exception for him to be there, for Grandma’s sake,” Pityo replied in a whisper. Caranthir’s continuing presence in Lady Vaire’s hall was due in part by some serious rule-bending by Namo and his lady. He flinched when a pin pricked his back. The tailor grunted an apology and continued with the fitting.

“Will she do so?”

“She might if it gets him out of the Halls and back to Helwien. Maybe she would be a lot less grumpy if he were about.”

“Your law-sister and I would appreciate it greatly if you two will stop messing with her dye vats!” Mornel yelled as she stormed into the room with Helwien. Both were dyed purple. Laughing the pranksters ran off half-dressed, much to the tailors’ horror, with a furious Helwien in close pursuit with a fireplace poker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caranthir is having second thoughts about remaining in Mandos. Sorry, I keep imagining the Ambarussa as a pair of pranksters.


	12. Pledging Fealty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins make their first visit to Tirion to swear fealty to their uncle. Trust is put to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Struggling with writer’s block.

The small delegation from Formenos watched the armed guards at the city gates warily. _This has to be done, so behave._ Mornel mentally chided her steed as Fearocco pawed the ground restlessly.

King Ingwe had insisted that the Ambarussa swear fealty to his nephew Arafinwe before he would deign to give his reluctant blessings to his granddaughters’ weddings. Failing to ban the Feanorions from the White City, the royal council of Tirion had found excuses to postpone the ceremony until a frustrated Arafinwe set the date himself.

“Oh for Manwe’s sake…” Glorfindel murmured when he saw the special ‘carriage’ the council of Tirion had insisted the Feanorions ride in. It was a sturdy wagon topped with an iron cage. “I trust this arrangement was made in mind for their safety,” his words dripped with sarcasm. The guards paled under the Balrog-slayer’s glare.

“They promised not to pull any pranks or cause trouble!” Nerdanel insisted. Mahtan’s face was as red as his beard and he trembled with restrained rage.

“The promise of a Feanorion counts for little!” a bold guardsman shouted. A sheepish-looking youngster came forward with a pair of manacles and indicated that the twins should be bound hand and foot. That was the final straw for Mornel Feanoriel. 

“Then send Uncle Ara our regrets that we will not bend to the council’s arrangement. My brothers are princes of the House of Finwe and shall not be chained like criminals!” Mornel retorted. Some of the guards wavered in their resolve, having fought alongside her in the War.

“Enough! We will bend to the council’s will!” Telvo took the chains from the young guard. Pityo grimly nodded his assent and his brother clapped the manacles on his wrists. Pityo then did the same for Telvo. The guards helped them into the wagon before chaining their ankles as well.

“Do you truly believe our father’s Oath still binds them? That they might pose a threat to the Noldoran? Or Lord Earendil who now holds the Silmaril?” Mornel protested. The twins looked so young in their plain homespun smocks. Inspired by a Silvan rite of penance, the twins had suggested they don plain unmarked garments in place of robes bearing the device of the House of Feanor. They had forgone footwear too, braving the city’s cobblestones. Nerdanel drew the line at shaving their heads.

“It’s alright. They will have to unchain us at the palace…” Pityo called out to his sister.

Seething with indignation, Mornel dismounted. The rest of the party followed suit, leading their mounts. Glorfindel and Mornel each took charge of one of the twin’s horses. Their path led them through the main streets of Tirion and news had spread like wildlife. Both sides of the street were lined with curious elves. Every window and balcony overlooking the street was crowded with faces as well.

When they passed Aunt Anaire’s house, a rotten tomato flew out from the crowd and smashed against the bars of the cage, spilling its putrid contents over Telvo.

“The red cap and green tunic!” Arakano called out from his balcony. He was still under house-arrest. “He went that way!” he pointed down an alley. His mother was no doubt already waiting at the palace.

“I beg your pardon…” Glorfindel nodded to Mornel and handed the reins of his horse and Telvo’s to Mornel before taking off after the assailant.

“That is excessive…” Helwien observed as she quietly joined the procession. She took charge of the Ambarussa’s horses, leaving Mornel with Asfaloth and Fearocco. She would not be able to enter the palace compound in her filthy work clothes. It was likely she would remain outside the gates. Mornel hoped her cousin would return soon.

The council’s precautions might just backfire on them, Mornel thought grimly. She did not know how much Arafinwe had actually agreed to. The harsh treatment of his twin cousins had incurred Glorfindel’s displeasure and likely Arakano’s as well. Glorfindel did not swear fealty to his uncle on the grounds his former oath to King Turgon still held. Arakano definitely was not bound when he pledged fealty. In fact, Aunt Anaire had even commissioned a special tunic of silver-embroidered silk for the occasion. No plain old robes for her little boy.

* * *

 

A hush fell over the packed grand hall when they entered it.

“What is this? Unchain them at once!” Arafinwe cried out in shock when he saw his nephews were manacled. Lady Edalote and Lady Anaire both gasped in shock at the sight. Prince Celeglass made a noise that sounded like a feral growl and had to be restrained discreetly by his father. Finrod and his wife looked positively sick.

“It was your council’s idea, uncle…” Mornel pointedly replied.

“The council? We only agreed that a shielded carriage and a suitable escort should be sent for my princely nephews. Not all this! Unchain them at once!” Arafinwe declared. The head guard fumbled with his keys but Celeglass was quicker. With his dagger, he popped the manacles open and freed the Ambarussa.

The twins immediately fell to their knees as one.

“My liege, I pledge my fealty to thee…”

“And as the Noldoran, I accept your pledge. Now rise, my nephews.” Arafinwe embraced them both warmly. He was joined with Finrod, who embraced the pair too.

Suitable princely robes were found and the twins changed out of their humble smocks. The reception then proceeded without much ado. Glorfindel slipped into the crowd of nobles and joined Mornel.

“On the upside, almost everyone in Tirion witnessed their sincerity,” Glorfindel remarked as they watched the twins, carefully chaperoned by their mother and grandfather, renew past acquaintanceships and forge new ones among the nobles. The nobles were eager to befriend the former Kinslayers now that they were back in their uncle’s good graces and would be joined to the House of Ingwe by marriage. 

“Well they did keep their promise not to prank anyone today, so far…” Mornel conceded with a tiny smile. “We could drop by to visit Arakano later, if they are up to it after all this.” 

“Lady Mornel,” a voice called out behind her. Mornel turned and was pleasantly surprised to see Earendil and his parents.

“I trust that your brothers are sincere in their pledge and will no longer trouble my son,” Tuor remarked. Idril patted his biceps to reassure him. The crowded grand hall unsettled him. Tuor never liked formal occasions such as this.

“Now, which is Amras and which Amrod?” Earendil asked. Glorfindel laughingly pointed out the twins. Earendil smiled wickedly and strode over to meet them. He then punched Amras in the jaw.

“What was that for?” Pityo asked as he helped a stunned Telvo to his feet.

“Sirion. Now we are even,” Earendil guffawed and slapped them on the back. “You are welcome to drop by our Tower in the Shadowy Seas. My wife might want to have a word or two about Doriath.”

“Thanks, I guess…” Pityo replied. He hoped that blow had not broken Telvo’s jaw. It was starting to turn an interesting shade.

* * *

 

The next morning, the four cousins dropped by Aunt Anaire’s house to visit Arakano. Mornel looked suspiciously at the tall, narrow box her brothers brought but she had no reason to check their gift for their host. She had brought a jar of wild berry-jam for her aunt.  

“A bottle of the finest Formenorian liquor,” Telvo announced as they presented Arakano with their gift.

“Thank you,” Arakano eagerly undid the lid and fell over backwards with a scream. A toy snake on a spring had bounced out of the box into his face. The twins grinned impishly and slapped their hands together. Aunt Anaire looked as if she could not wait to chase her redhead nephews out of the house.

“You promised to not to prank anyone…” Mornel blanched.

“Technically, they promised not to prank anyone yesterday, which they kept,”Glorfindel pointed out. “No harm done. Alright, Arako?” He helped Arakano back onto his feet.

“Well played, coz. Can I keep this?” Arakano picked up the toy snake. There was a big goofy grin on his face.  Mornel wondered if he had hit his head.

“Sure,” Telvo shrugged.

“Be our guest. There’s more where that came from…” Pityo added.

“Wait, more… What was in that crate you gave the guards this morning?” An unpleasant thought occurred to Mornel.

The elves turned in the direction of the palace barracks at the sound of startled screams of shock as the guards opened their gift from the prankster twins and numerous snakes bounced about the guardroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Noldoran would be more careful about the arrangements for future pledging ceremonies where his Feanorion nephews are concerned, and have a stern word or two with his council. Some of the Noldor have not quite forgiven the Feanorions yet. Next chapter would probably be the wedding.


	13. The Twin Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins get married to their beloveds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a bit of writer’s block with the twins’ wedding but I guess I have finally worked through it. Hopefully this works.

“Now, remind me how this is to work again?” Telvo snuggled up against his twin under their heavy travelling blankets.

“We enter the city and head for the palace. Grandfather Mahtan and Ingwion’s representative will finalize the bride-price just for form. Our families exchange gifts. We exchange vows in a Vanyar-style ceremony overseen by some windbag of a priest. Then we receive blessing from the Valar and our elders before heading to the nuptial chambers…”

“Er, Pityo, have you discussed the next step of the process with her yet?”

“Wouldn’t their amme have informed them of that step?” Pityo asked. Someone in the next tent coughed deep in his reverie. Soft murmurs drifting from another tent hinted that a least two members of their entourage were foregoing rest for some more pleasurable activities.

“I doubt it. I hear their women are forbidden from discussing that part with their daughters before the wedding.”

“How long do we have? I mean, as healers, they should be aware of that bit.”

“Two hours if we’re lucky. We need to provide proof to our elders’ satisfaction the wedding was consummated. I heard from a former palace guard that at Grandfather Finwe’s second wedding, the entire Vanyar delegation was in the bedroom checking their bed linens…”

“Ick. The Vanyar are weird. I see what you mean now. Lomire and Isilmire might not be ready… Having the entire court waiting like vultures outside will definitely kill the mood and…”

“Shouldn’t you two be catching up on reverie? We do have a long day’s travel ahead…” Mornel chided as she nonchalantly lifted the tent flap. She had picked up the habit of keeping a watch when travelling in a group while in Beleriand and continued the practice even in the peaceful environs of Aman.

“Sis, we might have a teensy problem…” both brothers spoke as one.

* * *

_In Ingwion’s mansion_

“Darling, I am worried…” Elsornie muttered as she returned from checking on their daughters.

“About what?” Ingwion exchanged a kiss with his wife.

“The consummation…” Elsornie sighed. Against Vanyar custom, she had discussed what her daughters should expect on their wedding night in an attempt to soothe their unease. However, she had noticed the nervousness under their smiles and perhaps their fear. It was understandable, given the manner of their deaths. The Ambarussa were not orcs despite the endless rumours of their fellness. She trusted them to treat her daughters gently.

However, the pressure would be on them. Her own union had gone smoothly. Some claimed that her law-father had even seemed disappointed when her new husband threw the slightly bloodied linens of their marital bed out the door for the court’s inspection. Had the marriage not been consummated, Ingwe would have had grounds to declare the union void. Many in Valmar would leap at the chance to declare the Ambarussa’s marriages void.

“There are certain potions available for more nervous brides, but I do not trust that they would not have unfortunate side-effects…” Elsornie admitted. There had been a recent case of a family who had gotten the dose wrong. The bride had passed out in the nuptial chamber and slept for a week afterwards. One unfortunate bride had broken out in hives in an unforeseen allergic reaction. Another had an onset of terrible hallucinations and fled from her new husband.

“Could we speak with Mornel or Mahtan about this? Ask them to press for Noldor custom or something?” Ingwion suggested. It might upset his father but he did not want his daughters to have an uncomfortable start to matrimony.

“The Noldor might leave the newly-weds in peace for the night, but we can be sure every lord will be poking his nose in at the chamber door and questioning the maids on the state of the linens,” Elsornie murmured as she loosened her braids for the night.

* * *

The guests crowded the grand reception hall of Ingwe’s palace. More elves of lower rank crowded the galleries above.

“They look pale…”

“It’s probably the fasting…”

The entourage from Formenos had arrived to much fanfare. As both sets of brides and grooms waited, Mahtan and Ingil went through the motions of haggling over the bride-price and dowries. The brides were clad in gowns of pure white with sheer veils over their heads. The twins were clad with close-fitting surcoats over their tunics.  Both couples looked ill at ease.There was a sour look on Ingwe’s face when the haggling was concluded and the gifts exchanged.

Everyone took their places for the lengthy service which followed. Prince Finrod led the delegation from Tirion, which included his family and Lady Anaire. It was deemed against protocol for the Noldoran and his queen to attend.

With much nervousness, both families watched as the newly-weds were ushered to their waiting bedchambers once the blessings were concluded. His Majesty Ingwe had deigned to bless his law-grandsons alongside his queen, with much prompting from her. Protocol had to be observed after all.  

“Would it work?” Mornel whispered.

“Of course it will,” Nerdanel replied. “It worked for me and your Atto.”

* * *

The night before. Three shadowy figures crept through the servants’ entrance of the Crown Prince’s mansion as the rest of the delegation camped outside the city. In the butler’s parlour, the bride’s parents waited.

“Well, I must confess to you that my eldest was born a scant ten months after my formal wedding,” Nerdanel said with a fond smile. “He was not born early…”

“You did say ‘formal’,” Elsornie caught on.

“My aunt, Lady Indis, insisted on the displaying of the linens in the morning to dispel any rumours of impropriety before the wedding. Prince Feanaro obliged by flying the sheets from the same flagpole that held my father’s standard,” Ingwion recalled. 

“Nelyo was begotten within wedlock, for they were wed over the anvil in my forge in the most traditional of Noldor rites a few months before. Lord Aule himself oversaw the ceremony so we were all very sure it was legit,” Mahtan added.

He could still see clearly his young apprentice and his daughter, both still clad in their grimy work aprons, exchanging their vows and rings over the anvil. His master, Lord Aule, then bestowed his blessings over the young pair.

“The public ceremony was just for form. It would just take a few drops of blood from either party to satisfy the nobles. My sons have been briefed if it should come to that. They have no desire to force their brides if they are not ready… a bit of discomfort on their part is a small price to pay,” Nerdanel informed the Crown Prince and his wife.

“My daughters and I thank you and your sons,” Elsornie thanked Nerdanel.

“Time’s running out,” Mornel warned from the corridor outside where she was keeping watch. “The kitchen help will be about soon and we must be gone.”

The trio crept out past the city gates, which was little more than a golden arch. Their campsite was still abuzz with activity despite the late hour. Prince Celeglass, Glorfindel, and a handful of like-minded friends were throwing a party to celebrate the last night of the twins’ bachelorhood. Telvo was passed out over an equally-drunk Pityo, despite their reassurances to their mother not to overindulge in the heady wine from Finrod’s cellars. Mornel hoped they would be sober enough for the wedding ahead.

* * *

Mornel’s attention was momentarily distracted by a loud snore. Half the hall turned to glare at Celeglass, who had dozed off during the rites, to his mother’s dismay. Titters followed when the prince made a show of yawning, then falling clean off his chair.

Two loud slams announced that both couples had entered their nuptial chambers. Mornel could see the Vanyar nobles craning their necks and straining their ears to pick up any sounds from within. Ingwion and Elsornie looked almost embarrassed by their people.

“Well, what say we leave the happy couples be? I have some fine ales to celebrate this happy occasion with,” Finrod clapped his hands and announced to the hall, ignoring Ingwe’s disapproving glare. “This brew was made from a recipe I got from Imin himself…”

_That should really draw the interest of the Vanyar away from the bedchambers,_ Mornel nodded with approval as Mahtan went over to help distribute the tankards of ale. Shamed by having an exulted guest carry out such a menial task, the palace servants took over the filling and passing of tankards. Even Ingwe found himself holding one. Glorfindel then began a spirited retelling of the flight from Gondolin and his slaying of the Balrog. Mellowed by the ale and entranced by the tale of valour, not one of the Vanyar noticed when the chamber doors creaked open. The bridal couples stood hand-in-hand with the slightly bloodied linens dumped on the floor before them. The Vanyar wedding was concluded.  

The festivities concluded without a hitch and in accordance with custom, the brides left their homes for their spouses’. Mornel did notice that her brothers were sitting a little stiffly in their saddles but refrained from making any comments. They travelled part of the way with Finrod’s party before turning north.

* * *

A rain shower earlier in the evening had necessitated tents. Telvo was grateful for the privacy they offered.

“Does it hurt?” Isilmire cooed as she changed the bandage around her husband’s thigh. Telvo shook his head. He had not meant to cut himself that deeply. His hand had slipped from nervousness. He flinched when he felt Isilmire’s lips on his skin.

“Isil… are you sure…” Telvo moaned. He was starting to feel slightly warm. He pulled at the laces of his nightshirt.

“Yes.” Isilmire wriggled out of her nightgown.

To his annoyance, Telvo felt Pityo probing at the edge of his mind with his osanwe from the next tent.

_Pityo, appreciate if you would leave us alone for the rest of the night…_

_Strange, Telvo, I was about to ask the same of you…_ his brother sounded distracted. With a grin, Telvo yanked his shirt over his head.

“May Lord Manwe and his Lady bless your union,” Mornel muttered and turned away from the backlit figures on her brothers’ tents. She wished the couples had the foresight to at least dim their lamps before proceeding. It was fortunate the rest of the party had long retired to their own tents.  

“Come to bed, child,” Nerdanel peered out of their tent. “There’s no need for a watch… Oh…”

Mornel nodded. With a smile, she crept over to her mother’s tent and into her own bedroll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s the twins’ wedding over and done with. 
> 
> Imin is the first Elf-father and the leader of the Minyar at Cuivienen. The probability of Finrod’s path crossing Imin’s is very high given his fondness for travel and that ale might really be the original Minyar brew of choice.


	14. East over the Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins and their spouses make a trip to Alqualonde and Numenor.

_A goodwill visit to Alqualonde. What could possibly go wrong?_ Mornel shook her head in disbelief. Princes Eareldo and Raumeldo were hiccupping helplessly and covered with various colours, courtesy of her amil’s ceramic glaze powders. She hoped none of them were of the toxic lead-based variety.

Her brothers were sneezing non-stop and their once red hair were dyed a shocking shade of neon green. Nerdanel and Queen Falmiril regarded their wayward offspring critically. This little prank war had gone overboard and was threatening to turn into a diplomatic furore. King Olwe was in the privy after accidentally ingesting wine from a flask meant for the twins.

“I do suppose we will have to postpone that visit to the memorial now,” Falmiril shrugged.

“I recommend a quick bath to rinse out the glaze,” Nerdanel replied tersely. “I am afraid it’s too late for their clothes.”

“Vinegar and soda for the hair, then hope for the best,” Falmiril added. “I believe the hiccupping and sneezing should wear off eventually. Excuse me, I should really deliver an antidote to my husband.”

“Will tomorrow morning do for the visit?” Nerdanel asked.

“Yes, I believe the effects of these juvenile pranks should have worn off by then.”

The next morning, the twins left flowers at the memorial to the victims of the First Kinslaying before a crowd of Teleri. Their hair was an odd shade of bluish purple, drawing chuckles from the onlookers. It would take a few months for their hair to grow out. King Olwe publicly decreed his forgiveness and welcomed the Feanorions as friends.

* * *

 

“Next stop, Avallone,”Mornel announced. They were to tarry at Prince Earlindo’s for a while before proceeding to Numenor to attend the coronation of her next king, Elendil. She was pleased her brothers had gotten over their initial discomfort on returning to the site of the First Kinslaying. Perhaps they had their wives’ reassuring presence to thank for that. Nerdanel had returned to her workshop outside town.

Pityo suddenly let out an audible moan and swayed on his feet. “S-ship…” Pityo murmured before his legs buckled. Mornel glanced at the magnificent Swan-ship Earlindo had sent to pick them up from Alqualonde.

“Pityo, we need to get this over with,” Telvo hissed a warning as the elf’s collapse drew the attention of various mariners and fisher-elves on the quay. Without a word, Lomire threw her husband’s arm over her shoulder and half-dragged him up the gangplank. The three remaining elves followed.

* * *

 

“Master Olorin did warn us about this,” Lomire admitted as she sponged her husband’s brow. Pityo had come to and was trying to sip a calming tisane she had concocted for him. The sea was relatively calm but PItyo had lost his breakfast all the same.

“We were all seasick after the First Kinslaying,” Telvo admitted. “Lord Osse was in a fine temper. It was a miracle any of the ships reached Beleriand.” Unlike his twin, Telvo showed no signs of seasickness. He rubbed Pityo’s back as Pityo heaved into a waiting bucket.

“That Maia told us it would wear off…” Pityo grimaced.

“Maybe we could put you on Lord Tuor’s ship when he and Idril set off on their explorations of the seas of the southern coasts. Six months should be enough for you to get used to life on a ship…” Telvo suggested wickedly.

“Telvo!” Pityo protested.

* * *

 

“What are the Numenoreans like?”

Mornel turned away from observing the flight of a flock of storm-petrels at Isilmire’s voice. Having limited space below decks, she had chosen to remain above.

“Like us, I suppose, save for their mortality. They will age and die, passing beyond Arda. Their royal court is much like any in Aman. There are wise men and fools alike. On account of their mortality, it is the duty of the king to ensure a successor…”

“Do you think the current king has chosen rightly?”

“I have heard little against Tar-Amandil’s wisdom in his choice of his firstborn, Elendil.”

“What if there comes a time when no deserving heir could be found?” Isilmire asked. “Or worse, the heir turns against the Valar?”

“Then it will be up to their people… It is not up to us to meddle. We can only guide them, so Uncle Ara says.”

* * *

 

Two weeks later, the party from Tol Eressea set forth. Both Earlindo and his wife Serelinde were also invited to attend the ceremony. There was some initial awkwardness when the twins greeted the nis they once knew as their law-sister but they soon accepted the change. Mornel and her brothers were surprised to be greeted by Prince Finrod on the docks of Andustar.

“I was compiling some recipes for distilling Numenorean liquors. You would not believe the ingredients they use…”

“I trust you will not be introducing those to Aman…” his uncle warned.

“I doubt the more exotic tastes would catch on. Here’s one for toothaches that calls for baby mice…” Finrod gushed.

“These include medicinal liquors?” the Vanyar twins perked up. Matters pertaining to the healing arts never failed to interest them.

“I could use a stiff drink for seasickness about now…” Pityo murmured and was elbowed by his wife. Serelinde had managed to create a henna mixture which got the Feanorion twins’ hair to a shade quite similar to their original hair colour. Mornel wryly noted that with the plainer garments of the Formenorians, it was easy for them to be mistaken at a casual glance for Earlindo’s household servants, which suited her just fine. 

Serelinde pointed out various herbs and spices the Edain had brought over with them from Beleriand and later cultivated. Both sets of twins were immensely taken by the sights and sounds of the port city. Arriving on a favourable tide, they had time to wander the markets before calling on Elendil’s household.

Mornel noticed a familiar figure by a stall selling trinkets. Silmarien. And she was not alone. With her was a young man. The way they held their hands… the pair stole a furtive kiss.

“Ah, young love…” Finrod sighed. “Reminds me of Amarie and I back…”

“Who’s he?” Mornel asked.

“You mean you do not know? He’s Elatan, son of the falconer Thoron- Wait, you mean she has not written to you of this at all?” Finrod blinked.

“If she wrote to anyone of this, it was not me.” Mornel frowned. “Does her father know?”

“I think not. He has been in Armenelos more often than not. Fear not, the boy’s lineage may be humble but his heart is kind and his character impeccable.”   

“For everyone’s sake I hope so,” Mornel murmured. She had heard from Earlindo of an ill-advised marriage Silmarien’s younger sister had with a lordling in her grandfather’s court. They watched as the couple melted into the market-crowd. She would confront her foster-daughter later in private.

* * *

 

_Silmarien is sincere about her beau Elatan. The question is, does he feel the same for her?_

Mornel barely noticed the scenery outside their carriage as they made their way to Armenelos. Silmarien had been almost adamant of her relationship. Mornel had no desire to inform Elendil of this development. It would be best for his daughter to do that herself. The blood of Elros flowed in Silmarien, she had inherited her forefather’s stubbornness. Unlike her sister, she was prepared to wait for her father’s blessing before proceeding. Mornel prayed that her gamble would pay off.

The passing of sceptre by Tar-Amandil and the coronation of Elendil went off without a hitch. Mornel noticed the absence of Prince Earendur. Unfortunately, his wayward son was very much in attendance and making a drunken nuisance of himself.

The presence of two pretty blond ellyth among the guests did not go unnoticed and he was soon making everyone uncomfortable with lewd propositions. Mornel made no serious attempt to stop her brothers when their patience finally snapped. The Feanorions then dragged Caliondo out of the hall and dunked him in the palace fountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers of The Numenor Letters might notice a little discrepancy in the persons present. To clarify, the twins have made more than one visit to Tol Eressea by S.A. 620. This chapter details their first visit, along with their journey to Numenor for Elendil’s coronation in S.A. 590. Pityo has a phobia of sailing, ships, and fire given his past life. However, he has since made further visits to Tol Eressea with his twin despite his sailing phobia after Nerdanel moved there.


	15. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins visit the Woods of Orome in their second life and encounter an old friend.

“At least we are back on solid ground…” Pityo murmured as he fell on all fours on the grassy bank. Even crossing a calm lake in a small rowboat made him ill.

“Really, one would have expected you to have gotten over being seasick by now… Lord Osse isn’t anywhere near us!” Telvo retorted in annoyance. Their mother had suggested a visit to Lorien where the healers proved as useful as a leaky bucket. Pityo was sent away with an herbal prescription which had already failed him twice in Alqualonde. The latest visit to Nerdanel’s had been a real trial on him.

Their wives had remained behind to discuss some feminine concerns with their fellow healers, leaving the twins to their own devices for the rest of the day. Taking the shortcut across the lake to the Woods of Orome had seemed a good idea at first, until Pityo spewed his lunch all over Telvo’s boots.

“I do hope Lady Este would not mind…” Telvo shrugged as he tried to clean his soiled boots in the lake, which remained as flat as a mirror in spite of his swirling the boots about in the shallows.

“We haven’t been here for a very long time…” Pityo wiped his mouth on the corner of his sleeve and looked about them. Once, their brothers had brought them here when they were still elflings. The light was different now that the Trees were gone. Yet the gnarled woods remained, timeless and seemingly unchanging.

“Do you hear it?”

“What?”

“A hunting horn!” Pityo called out as he ran into the shadows of the trees.

“Wait up!” Telvo yanked on his wet boots and ran after his twin.

* * *

 

_Elflings were always treasured and fussed over. It was true the pair were far too young to join in the actual boar hunt, but that did not stop them from partaking in the festivities that followed. Twins were almost unheard of and many curious looks were cast their way as they mingled with hunters._

_Curvo laughed as he flirted outrageously with a pretty huntress over the spitted boar roasting over an open fire. He did stop flirting long enough to stop Telvo from stumbling into the fire pit. Moryo had set up a target and was overseeing an archery contest for some of the younger hunters. The mix of ale and arrows did not go well and more arrows landed in the bushes beyond the target._

_Turko, whose skill had won them the boar, sat at Lord Orome’s side. Huan lolled at his feet. The songs were becoming increasingly raunchy as the mead flowed. Their blond brother beckoned them over. When they refused to heed him, Turko nudged Huan with a boot. Pityo was subjected to the indignity of being carried over to Lord Orome with his collar in Huan’s mouth. Telvo trotted after Huan, not willing to risk a similar humiliation._

_“A gift for you two rascals,” Turko said before draining his tankard and handing them each a small bow and quiver. “Tomorrow we will see how well you pick up archery under Master Tilion.”_

_“Soon, little ones, you will ride with your brother and hunt with me,” Lord Orome laughed. Turko walked off with Cousin Irisse to get more mead, leaving Huan to watch the sleepy-eyed twins. “Sweet dreams, little ones…” the Master of the Hunt scooped up both twins and wrapped them in his bear-skin cloak against the chill._

* * *

 

“Lord Orome!” the twins burst into a clearing. Standing on a slight rise was the Master of the Hunt atop his steed. A familiar grey shape bounded about the horse.

“Huan!” the twins cried out. The hound yipped and bounded off the rise into the air.

“N-no, don’t! Oof!” the twins cried out together as the large hound landed on top of them.

“You crazy hound…” Pityo groaned as Huan did his utmost to drown the pair in dog slobber.

Huan allowed them to sit on his back and Vala bade them to follow him. They travelled for a while in silence, taking in the timelessness of Orome’s domain. Small woodland critters chittered and peered at them from trees and bushes. A ferret bounded across their path, bravely dancing around Nahar’s hooves.

“Nothing has changed; yet everything has.”

It was Telvo who finally broke the silence.

“You are right, child. The trees remain but the Light has gone,” Orome replied solemnly. “We were wondering, when you will join my hunts once more…”

“Will Celegorm return here like Huan did?”

“The choice is his to make. For now he remains in Namo’s care. Huan has made his choice too. His place is here in my lodge, for now.”

“So Huan will not come with us to Formenos?” Pityo asked.

Lord Orome shook his head with a smile. _Huan is waiting for a time in the future and someone._

They were approaching the lodge now. A few familiar faces greeted them. Orome dismounted and introduced the twins, welcoming them to his lodge and making it clear they were his guests. Servants took Nahar’s reins and led him off to the stables.

Master Tilion was gone, of course, sailing the skies with the last flower of Telperion. Aiwendil was holding a discussion with Alatar and Pallando on the habits of hares. The Maiar ended their discussion to welcome the Master of the Hunt home.

“Ferret?” Aiwendil produced a ferret out of his sleeve. “Or rabbit?” he pulled out a rabbit from his other sleeve, much to the twins’ amusement. Alatar and Pallando were rolling a barrel of ale over for their guests.

“Oops…” Seeing its natural prey, the ferret made a lunge for the bunny and the rabbit took off into the undergrowth. “Now we have none…” the Maia shrugged and took off his hat, only for a magpie to fly out from under it. The twins laughed.

“There’s Tata,” Lord Orome waved at a nearly-naked elf gutting a deer. Arcane tattoos decorated his bare limbs, back, and exposed buttocks. His hair was tied up in a top-knot decorated with eagle feathers. Only a loin cloth protected his modesty. He cut out the deer’s liver and offered it to the huntress whose arrow had felled the deer.

“Over there is Elmo and his kinsmen, who just got out of Mandos…” Several other elves were working on a raw hide. These elves were clad in garments favoured by the hunters of the Woods for comfort and utility. Elmo was mixing the salt to be used in drying out the skin once it was cleaned.

“Well-met, we’re from Doriath… Which one of you is Amras?” Elmo’s kin abandoned their task of stretching the skin and loped over. It was clear they were father and son. The twins looked about for Huan or Lord Orome but Vala and hound were nowhere near.

“Now, now, there shall be no bloodshed under our lord’s roof…” a hunter stepped between the twins and the Sindar. “Or anywhere in these blessed woods for that matter…”

“Can I just give him a punch, Beleg?” the younger Sinda protested. Beleg shook his head firmly.

“He’s right, son. We are not kinslayers. Neither are we such elflings to bear grudges,” the elder Sinda relented and returned to his work. His son reluctantly followed his lead.

“You are Beleg Cuthalion?” Telvo gawped. “You are a legend among the Nandor!”

“Beleg who?” Pityo asked.

“Didn’t Finrod lend us that book on First Age history and ballads? Beleg Cuthalion of Turin Turambar fame! Chief of the Marchwardens of Doriath. He and Mablung fought alongside us in the Alliance of Maedhros,” Telvo cuffed his twin playfully.

“My comrade Mablung is off hunting boar now, thankfully, or he might want to take Lord Galathil’s side,” Beleg laughed and offered them each a tankard of ale to quench their thirst. “Now, I bid you welcome, friend.”

“We thank you, friend,” the twins replied.

* * *

 

The couples were dining on a hearty rabbit stew in a small cottage in the woods, courtesy of Lord Orome and Lady Vana. The Master of the Hunt had extended an invitation to them to remain for a few days of hunting. The two-room cottage was rarely used by married couples or hunters recovering from accidents. Alatar explained that few of Orome’s followers wed and he was glad the cottage he helped build so long ago as now put to good use.

“And we met Mablung. Sparred with him too…” Pityo gushed.

“He wiped the floor with you,” Telvo retorted.

“Does it hurt?” Lomire kissed her husband on the cheek. Pityo shook his head. 

“He smacked me in the head, Isilmire, shouldn’t I get a kiss too?” Telvo pouted. His wife giggled and squeezed his knee, whispering into his ear and promising more than just a kiss.

* * *

 

_“Celegorm!” Amras yelled out. He was in the halls of Doriath, in the thick of the fighting. He knew Caranthir had fallen already. As had Curufin. He sprinted in the direction of the throne room, knowing he would find Celegorm there._

_“Pityo?” He did not understand why his twin was here too, running beside him. Pityo only nodded in acknowledgement, keeping pace. Amras knew they would be too late._

_Celegorm stood over his slain foe, but be was mortally wounded. His knees buckled as Amras neared him, the light fading from his eyes. He fell across Dior’s body. Amras had to roll Celegorm off before searching Dior for the Silmaril. It was never there. His twin’s hands were searching alongside his._

_Pityo suddenly stiffened and clutched at his throat as if choking._

_“Pityo!” Amras screamed as his twin burst into flames as their father had done._

“My love, wake up,” someone was shaking him awake. Telvo awoke to find a concerned Isilmire beside him.

“A nightmare…” Telvo groaned. His hands were still shaking. He could remember Celegorm’s dead weight and the blood. Isilmire was rubbing his back to soothe him as his breath steadied.

“I need to get some air,” Telvo murmured and climbed out of bed. He left his wife, who promptly curled up under the blankets. He padded barefoot across the cold cobbles of the kitchen to find the cottage door open. Pityo was already sitting on the doorstep.

“Nightmare?”

“Aye, burning ships again?” Telvo asked casually.

“Aye, and you were there with me,” Pityo moved aside so his twin could join him. Fireflies danced in the small garden before them.

“I wonder if Celegorm will ever hunt in these woods again.”

“Lord Orome will definitely welcome him back as he did us, when he leaves Mandos,” Pityo yawned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beleg and Mablung are Marchwardens from Doriath. Elmo and Galathil are the grandfather and brother of Celeborn respectively and nobles of Doriath. Galathil is also Nimloth’s father in canon. I imagine Beleg would be the forgiving type, even more so when their host has indicated the Feanorions are friends. 
> 
> Alatar and Pallado are Maiar under Lord Orome.


	16. Hunting Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel visits Lord Orome's Woods and makes new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A letter sends Mornel and Tatie hastening to the Woods of Orome.

“Falcon from His Highness Celeglass,” Tatie announced as she strolled into the study. Mornel looked up from perusing the petition from a neighbouring Avari tribe. Celeglass was spending his summer in Lord Orome’s lodge as a stable-elf after the latest diplomatic disaster involving a banquet at the Vanyar embassy in Tirion and some fireworks. It was a miracle no one was seriously hurt in the stampede.

Mornel took the tiny scroll from the bird’s leg and winced at the sight of Celeglass’ notoriously bad handwriting. The words were barely legible. What she could make out drained the colour from her face.

“Tatie, I must leave for Lord Orome’s lodge at once!”Mornel put aside her inkwell and scrolls. 

“So tomorrow’s council meeting is cancelled, I presume?” Tatie asked nonchalantly. “Has our prince burnt the lodge to the ground?”

“Not quite. He writes that my brothers have met up with a group of elves from Doriath. He also wrote something about hunting I could not quite make out but he hopes my brothers will not be caught.” _What could have possessed Lord Orome to allow such folly in his domain?_

“I’m coming with you,” Tatie insisted. “Even if I have run after that wretched horse of yours.”

* * *

 

Fearocco protested mightily at having to bear an extra rider but Mornel pointed out that it would not be reasonable to expect Tatie to run all the way. Having a second horse meant Fearocco would not be able to go at the speed he preferred. The stubborn horse finally relented.

With Tatie riding behind her, Mornel sped through the night without stopping. They reached Lord Orome’s Woods before midday. It was a hair-raising journey. Fearocco was not disinclined to cut miles off the trip by leaping over chasms and rivers or down steep rock-faces.

“That was wild!” Tatie was laughing as she dismounted. Her braids were in disarray. Mornel’s knees were a little shaky and she almost fell off her horse in dismounting. A Maia Mornel recognized as Pallando took Fearocco away for a much-deserved rubbing-down and watering. A female servant-elf offered them water. The lodge was eerily quiet apart from a few servants at their chores.

“Tata!” Tatie suddenly let out a piercing shriek and bore down on a barely-dressed elf drowsing by the empty fireplace. The elf rubbed his eyes.

“Tatie?” The slap Tatie dealt her spouse echoed through the hall.

“What took you so long?” she demanded. “They told me you were out of Mandos. Were you even going to look for me?”

“I thought you’d be mad at me… over the warg…” Tata rubbed his cheek.

“Look, it was the plan we ran separate ways so at least one of us could get home... So what sent you to Mandos?”

“Dragon,” Tata shuddered.

“You poor fool,” Tatie kissed her spouse on his brow.

Mornel smiled. She left the hall to give the couple some privacy. She had to find Celeglass or her brothers. She found Celeglass on the edge of the compound. He was not alone. With him was Glorfindel and her twin law-sisters. The four looked oddly undisturbed.

“Well-met, my lady, are you here for the hunting games?” Celeglass grinned. “Cousins Pityo and Telvo volunteered to be it.” He was clad in the smock of a stable-hand but the shovel at his side was surprisingly clean. Mornel doubted that prince had even set foot in the paddocks where the hunters’ mounts were kept.

“What hunting games?” Mornel had the feeling that her worries of a potential Kinslaying were unfounded. If there was any danger to their husbands, Isilmire and Lomire would not be nonchalantly making flower-wreaths for the hall. 

“Just a little idea adapted from Gondolin,” Glorfindel explained. “We had this game where elves from one House are pursued by the other Houses through the city streets. We use blunted arrows and spears with tipped with a bit of coloured wax. If you get hit, you are out. You are safe if you get to a certain location…”  

“So now we have some hunters from Doriath chasing my brothers through the Woods?” Mornel asked incredulously.

“Well, we added in some tracking and stuff. The Ambarussa were turned loose last night so they could lay false trails for the hounds and set up traps…” Celeglass added. “If they do get caught, they will just be stripped, painted blue, and have to stay that way until after the feasting. If the hunters fail to catch either of them by sundown, Marchwardens Beleg and Mablung will be painted blue instead.”

“Is there any refuge for them?”

“This lodge. Not to worry, Lord Orome set some of his Maiar to discreetly keep an eye out so things don’t get out of hand…”

A hunting horn broke the silence. Pityo broke cover and sprinted towards them across the glade. He did not get too far before a blunted arrow hit him in the back, knocking him off-balance. The riders and hounds broke cover next. Someone threw a net over Pityo.

Alarmed, Mornel sprinted over. Her brother was laughing, which was probably a good sign. The riders were dismounting and calling the hounds to heel. A hunter looked her way and gawped.

“Elbereth! They sent Curufin back as an elleth.”

The hunters pulling Pityo to his feet were distracted, allowing their captive to escape both their grasp and the net. He sprinted the remaining hundred yards to the safety of the compound.

“Thanks, sis!”

“Foul!” a disgruntled hunter protested.

“A hunt is always subject to chance, as every hunter should know. So Cousin Pityo has made it safely to his den by one such chance,” Glorfindel announced. “You still have some hours before sundown and one more fox out there, Mablung, or do you prefer being blue?”

“I demand an explanation,” the huntmaster glared at Mornel.

“Oh, right. You have not yet met the Lady of Formenos, Mornel the Wise,” Celeglass drawled. “She’s a veteran of the War, so we would not recommend starting a fight here…”

“Any resemblance to her sire or Curufin is purely coincidental,” Glorfindel added. “Don’t look for grudges where there are none.”

Before Mablung could respond, a hunting horn blast declared that the other party of hunters had picked up the trail of their prey. The hunters whistled for their hounds and deftly mounted their horses. The party returned to the shadowy depths of the woods.

* * *

 

“I was this close…”

“Oh shush. You were the one who got caught in his own trap…”

Telvo had failed to elude the hunters and was brought into the lodge trussed like a boar. After Pityo’s escape, Mablung was not taking any chances. Beleg had argued in favour of allowing the twins to keep their underthings on, much to the relief of their wives and sister.

Lord Orome and his lady had deigned to grace the feast with their presence. The large hound at their feet could only be Huan. Lady Vana had taken a hand in painting the victims blue amidst much laughter and Mornel prayed it did not mean that her brothers would spend the next two months blue. The Valie had a peculiar sense of humour at times. Avarin lore had it stinging nettles came about when she added her needles to one of her sister Yavanna’s plants. 

Apart from the twins, Mornel’s presence drew the attention of the hunters. Word had gotten round that she had fought in the War and rescued Lord Oropher’s son from orcs. Mablung’s suspicions had eased a little and he took up an almost protective role at her side in case any stubborn Sindar insisted on causing trouble. Beleg was busy getting drunk with the twins. Somewhere between the fire-pit and ale barrel, they had convinced Beleg to remove his shirt and wear a raccoon pelt as a hat.

“It went well, didn’t it?” Glorfindel asked as he offered Mornel a plate of sour cabbage and yams to go with her roast venison.

“No one got hurt, too badly at least. And Tatie is reunited with her spouse,” Mornel nodded.

“Ah, they were chasing each other by the river, so Alatar reports.”

“You speak Sindarin well for one in Valinor, my lady,” Mablung broke the silence.

“My cousin speaks several Silvan dialects too, in addition to the Mannish tongues of Numenor,” Glorfindel added.

“It was necessary to learn them to have dealings with one’s neighbours,” Mornel replied.

“This brings back memories of the Mereth Aderthad,” Mablung said wistfully. “I met your brothers for the first time then. To be honest, I did not really care for them much. Well, your cousin Galadriel was dancing her way through the lords. And the ladies could not keep their eyes off Finrod and Glorfindel here.”

“That was before Elu Thingol decided to close his borders to the Noldor,” Glorfindel interjected. “May this feast be truly one of friendship.”

“Aye, the gates of Formenos will forever be open to friends,” Mornel declared.

“What’s the hunting like in the north?” Beleg asked as he joined them. The festivities had gotten too rowdy for Isilmire and Lomire. The pair had retreated to their cottage at the far side of the compound, leaving their husbands to their own devices.

“There’s bison on the northern steppes. They are like large cattle with thick fur and huge horns…  Very dangerous if riled. The hunters must hunt them in groups with hounds. We have elk in the forests with antlers wider than a door…” Mornel started describing the flora and fauna of the northern lands to the Sindar hunters. More joined the knot of listeners.

She described the myriad Avari and Silvan tribes who peopled the valleys around Formenos. Someone handed her a harp and she was persuaded to sing of the wild beauty of the northern forests and steppes.

“You have your brother Maglor’s gift,” Beleg complimented when the song was done. He then did a heart-stopping Silvan-styled dance with two swords. Celeglass then joined in the dance with two swords ‘borrowed’ from some drunk Sinda. Mornel was glad she did not have to sew up any toes when it was over.

The twins found the blue dye used on them and painted Huan’s tail blue. The annoyed hound then chased the pair around the compound before Lord Orome decided to intervene. The feast came to a close with much merriment and goodwill.

A sleepy Mornel bunked down with the other huntresses in the main hall of the lodge on skins that smelt of the forest. She was glad her brothers had reached a truce with so many of the Sindar, including Mablung and Beleg. Elu Thingol still lingered in Mandos so they would have to cross that bridge when he is released. No one knew if Dior and his sons would ever walk in Aman or if Nimloth would return without her spouse.

 _Elwing._ She had put off the visit to her tower as long as she could. Perhaps she should write to Elwing. It would not do to turn up with her brothers unannounced. Elwing might not be quite ready to meet Amras and his twin yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that is Mornel’s visit to Lord Orome’s done. I imagine the twins as hunters would have formed a bond with other hunters like Mablung and Beleg. Huan does not really click with Mornel the same way he does with the twins. Basically, she is a stranger to him. He would have babysat the twins when they were elflings.
> 
> Slight linguistic goof corrected. A Sinda is more likely to use the Sindarin word for a she-elf (elleth) than the Quenya one (nis).


	17. A Lonely Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elwing chooses a hermit’s existence on the Shadowy Seas and accepts a visit from two Feanorions.

Mornel never could understand Elwing’s decision to live alone on such a desolate stretch of coast. Her tower was set on a headland reaching out into the Shadowy Seas. Her husband’s vessel moored there on the rare occasion he was granted leave to visit the land or changed crews. Otherwise, the Vingilot remained in the sky, resupplied by Lord Manwe’s Eagles out of Alqualonde. After the initial flurry of visiting long-lost relations and the like in Alqualonde, Tirion, and Valmar, Elwing retreated almost entirely from Eldar society. Few troubled her so far from civilization, not even her own people who had sailed from Sirion at the end of the War. Only a handful of loyal servants remained once the tower was finished. These few managed a small farmstead that supplied their needs and those of their former queen. Even so, it was hard trekking along the cliffs to the tower.

Tuor and Idril visited their law-daughter if they were in the vicinity. Lady Anaire once made the trek there and had complained terribly of the rustic surroundings on her return to Tirion. Glorfindel and Arakano visited at least twice but there was little to interest them there. The Maia Melian was whispered to visit her descendant in the form of a bird to tutor her in shapeshifting. Elwing kept to her own. Idril confided in Mornel once that the Sindar had unwittingly isolated their young queen in Sirion. She was not allowed to play with elflings of lesser rank. Her first true playmate was probably Earendil who had defied all rules and protocol set by her minders to befriend her.

Mornel was glad that Elwing had agreed to allow the twins to visit her. Isilmire and Lomire would accompany them. Mornel had arranged for two rooms at the farm for the couples as was no room to house them all for the night within the tower. She would sleep in the hayloft as there were no other rooms to be had on the farm.

“And Fearocco actually kicked Huan? That horse has some issues…” Pityo chattered. Mornel nodded. The chatter was nothing but a thin mask for his nerves. They had left their horses at the farmstead and were trudging towards the tower.

She would have liked to get to know Huan at Lord Orome’s Lodge. However, when the large hound approached her, Fearocco had leapt out of the paddock and sent a hapless Huan flying into the brambles. Fearocco earned himself a telling-off from the Lord of the Hunt. Still, Huan kept a wary distance from Mornel and her horse for the rest of their stay. Mornel made a mental note to leave Fearocco at Lady Yavanna’s Pasture the next time she visited the lodge.

“Think Lady Elwing will like this?” Telvo asked as he patted the present they had prepared. _How do you tell someone you are sorry for killing her parents and destroying her home?_ Seabirds wheeled and screeched around the tower. They nested on the cliffs below it. At the foot of the cliffs were rocks on which seals basked.

“Of course she will,” Isilmire reassured him. She lagged behind with her sister, unused to such hard trekking. Mornel hoped her words would not be proved false. The twins had woven a basket from reeds with a brilliant Nandorin design. The basket was filled with smoked trout, nuts, and jars of fruit preserves from Formenos, courtesy of Mornel and her law-sisters. Elwing had given up her title as queen of the Sindar and had no use for gems or pearls. She had been presented by many such gifts in her early days in Aman. These she had distributed among her servants for their loyal service and to help her people start a new life in Aman.

Reaching the tower, Mornel knocked and called out a greeting. She was not surprised when a large pelican parted from the flock and gracefully transformed into Elwing. She was simply clad in a white dress and a grey shawl trimmed with glass beads. Her hair was worn free. The twins gasped at the sight. Mornel simply greeted her. She had seen Elwing change from a bird on many previous visits. With a smile, Lady Elwing unlocked the door and welcomed them in. A winding staircase led to the living quarters at the top.

The interior of the tower was a mess, as usual. Elwing’s housekeeper despaired of ever maintaining any semblance of order. In this chaos, Elwing found chairs, throws, and cushions for her guests before setting a kettle on the stove. A jar of oatmeal cookies was found under a pile of tangled yarn.

Elwing did tapestries, handicrafts, and paintings to while the hours away waiting for her husband’s return to Aman’s skies. She never followed him far on his journeys. She thanked the twins for their basket and disappeared behind a bead curtain where Mornel knew a small pantry was kept.

“That’s Dior and Nimloth, isn’t it?” Pityo whispered and indicated a half-finished painting on an easel. The couple smiled out at the viewers. At their sides were two greyish blobs of colour.  Mornel could not say as they had never discussed the painting for all the time it had sat in the corner of Elwing’s sitting room, almost unchanged. Elwing might add a dab of colour here and there but that was it about it. Telvo’s breath caught.

“Aye, does it look anything like them?” Elwing startled the Ambarussa with her return. “Have you met them in Beleriand or Mandos?”

“Nay, but we kept to our own for most part, even in Mandos…” Pityo confessed.

“Lady, it is quite a s-striking likeness of Dior,” Telvo hiccupped. The last time he had seen Dior the Fair, he was lying in a pool of blood with his throat slashed and most of his guts spilling out. He had fought fiercely against Celegorm for all his inexperience.

“I certainly hope it is,” Elwing sighed. “I have been told my Nana looks nothing like how I have painted her and I can’t seem to remember anything of how my brothers look like. Why is that so?”

“It is a common affliction for elflings who have undergone a traumatic experience,” Isilmire reassured her. “It seems that to protect itself, the fea blocks out memories related to and even before the incident. We do not know whether such elflings will ever recover these lost memories.”

Mornel nodded in agreement. She had known Gildor Inglorion, Finrod’s foster son. Gildor had no memories of his original family, what became of them, or even the name his parents gave him. If the memories did return, he never spoke of it. Elrond and Elros had scattered memories of their lives in Sirion. Then again, perhaps the boys never really lost them completely in the first place like Gildor did.   

“It is a rather troubling thing, memories. My husband suffers terribly from what happened to him in his first life…” Lomire added and patted her spouse’s hand. “There are warriors returning from Mandos having died by dragon-fire who fear open flames. Those who perished on the Ice fear the cold.” The twins spent long stints in Lorien helping with returnees from Mandos.  

“My brave Earendil used to get nightmares about that nasty dragon he fought but they are less frequent now…” Elwing murmured in an unguarded moment. “I do wish I could finish this painting properly.”

Mornel studied the portrait of Nimloth. The proportions of the face were slightly off. Elwing must have started by painting her own face from a mirror and then tried to shape it into what she thought her mother looked like. Elwing inherited most of her features from her sire. There was a bit of Elwing in Nimloth’s ears but the cheekbones seemed oddly familiar. Mornel was sure she had seen them on an elf somewhere across the Sea. _Celeborn, Galadriel’s spouse._

“Galathil!” Telvo suddenly cried out. “Pityo, do you remember that Sinda who also broke my arm during that friendly wrestling match? Do you suppose they are related?”

“My nurse once mentioned my maternal grandfather had that name but my tutor told me I should not bother too much with them as they were low nobility, having married outsiders…” Elwing frowned.

“Your tutor did you a disservice,” Mornel clucked with disapproval. “Nimloth’s kin who fell at Diorath have returned. We met them in Lord Orome’s lodge.” It was true Grandfather Mahtan was no noble, but Arafinwe never stopped Mornel from visiting Nerdanel’s kin. On the contrary, he encouraged it once she was able to travel about Aman untroubled.

“W-would they want to meet me?” Elwing faltered.

“Why not? Perhaps you should write to them,” Pityo suggested. “If they were living in Diorath then, they would have known your brothers. Maybe with their help, this family portrait could finally be completed as you wish?”

“Thank you,” Elwing gasped. Tears came to her eyes.

A brilliant light at the window distracted everyone at this moment and they hastened to the small balcony. The Silmaril at her prow, the Vingilot was descending. When she was low enough, a rope ladder was dropped and Earendil climbed down.

Worried, Mornel stole a quick glance at her brothers. Dread, surprise, finally awe flashed across their faces. It was as if they had feared the presence of the Silmaril would re-awake the Oath and were relieved to find it no longer bound them. Like their wives, they were stood rapt with admiration of the beauty of the Treelight.

“Darling, you aren’t expected until next week,” Lady Elwing hugged her husband.

“And leave you to face these bullies alone?” he teased. “Now which one of you made my wife cry?”

“These are tears of joy. My grandfather is back from Mandos.”

“Beren?” Earendil raised a quizzical brow.

“No, my other grandfather.”

“You never spoke of him.”

“I know, my fault,” Elwing flushed red. Alas, Earendil had to return to his duties sailing the skies all too soon after having a cup of tea and a cookie. He took some of the trout and nuts for his crew.

The visit went far better than Mornel could hope for. A letter to Nimloth’s family was dispatched to Lord Orome’s lodge. The Ambarussa’s party would remain at the farmhouse for a week and visit Elwing daily.

* * *

 

Elwing kept meticulous records of the genealogy of the House of Elros. She always asked Mornel for news of how Elros and later his descendants were faring. In a way, she reminded Mornel of Miriel Perinde, tracking the deeds of her descendants from afar. She often bemoaned the fact that there had been next to nothing heard of Elrond from the elves sailing from Endore.

“It is rather sad,”Pityo remarked one evening as they walked back to the farm. “Even though she got to meet her son a few times before he passed… She does seem lonely…” Having chosen the Gift of Man, Elros was now beyond his mother’s reach, until the Second Music.

“When and if Elrond does sail, I am sure he would visit…” Mornel suggested. “Or Earendil and Elwing might have another elfling…” She was not sure about her words. The couple had not shown any inclination for more children.

At the end of the week, Elwing presented her guests with small gifts. The twins received miniature portraits of each couple that could be set in lockets. To tell them apart, Isilmire and Telvo were painted against a pale green background while their siblings were painted against a blue one. They were skilfully done. No one had even realised she had been working on them even as she acted as their hostess. Mornel’s gift was not a portrait, but a crocheted shawl with coloured beads woven in the fringe. Elwing had been working on it ever since Mornel’s last visit to thank her for her continued friendship with the House of Elros.

“We do not know how long the House of Elros will treasure the friendship of the Eldar, but we thank you on the behalf of Elros’ children for your guidance…”

 _If only that friendship could continue down the generations…_ Mornel knew she would guide the leaders of Numenor as far as they would allow her to do so. Already she felt the ties of kinship weakening as Elros Tar-Minyatur faded into the pages of Numenorean history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Elwing as being more mature now after all she has gone through over the years. A small part of her is still hoping for a reunion with her parents and brothers. Now she would have her maternal kin calling on her as well.


	18. The Unhoused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Formenos haunted? Mornel discovers an unexpected guest under her roof as Caranthir returns unannounced.

“There is a ghost in the North Wing, I tell you.”

“Oh rot! Aren’t you too old for such tales?”

“The Unhoused are just some old Avari tales… Now, who took those meat pies? We are two short…” the cook grumbled and waved her ladle at the pair of scullions. The scullions shook their heads and continued scrubbing the pots. The cook shook her head and arranged the remaining pies on a plate to be served to the household.

This was not the first time food has gone missing from her kitchen. She would blame the Ambarussa but they had been away when the strange happenings started. Half a wheel of cheese, two loaves of bread, and an entire string of sausages had gone missing over the past two months. There also seemed to be less milk from the cows, so the milkmaids complained. It was as if someone had milked a little from each during the night. The barn door was left unlatched despite both swearing by Lady Varda that they had latched it the night before. The cows refused to give any hints about their night-time visitor.

The butler complained of empty cider bottles turning up in the cellar. Someone was helping him or herself to the House of Feanor’s private stock. It was true the Lady of Formenos was generous to a fault but this was another matter altogether. 

Some claimed lights were seen in the windows of the North Wing during the night. No one ventured to the North Wing where the old rooms of the Feanorions were, not even the Ambarussa. Their original bedroom was given over to be used as a storeroom and Mornel provided new, separate rooms for them and their wives whenever they visited. For much of the year, they lived in Silvan-styled huts by the lake. They had only just turned up at the keep an hour ago due to the coming of winter and were in the Hall of Trees with their sister and a few friends.

Mornel applauded as her twin law-sisters’ duet ended. The sisters bowed and put aside their harps. The twins toasted their wives with goblets of mulled mead. Like all noble daughters, Lomire and Isilmire were taught to sing and play music since childhood even if they had no intention of becoming bards. Mornel took their place and sang a ballad of the Great Journey under the Stars. Grandfather Mahtan and a colleague then started a hilarious crosstalk that had everyone in stitches. Everyone went to bed content and Mornel had no inkling of what awaited them that night.

* * *

 

_“Unhoused fea in old rooms!”_

Mornel awoke to the tapping and scratching of an owl on her window. She reined in the urge to throw something at the bird. The poor thing seemed panicked. She let the creature in.

“What’s this nonsense about an unhoused fea?” Mornel asked in owl.

“Cook said. Servants said. Look and see!” the owl hooted before swooping out into the night. Mornel peered out into the night and was surprised to see light coming from the long-unoccupied wing of the fortress. She pulled on her dressing gown and grabbed a dagger for a weapon. It could just be some foolish youngsters on a dare. Surely there were no thieves in Aman. _Morgoth and Ungoliant had come and stolen the Silmarils from the very vault beneath her, slaying Grandfather Finwe…_ A voice whispered unpleasantly in her mind. 

Mornel banished the thought from her mind. Surely that monster spider could not enter the Blessed Realm unnoticed by the Valar. Not this time that they knew of her existence? Could it be really be an unhoused fea, lost and confused, unable or unwilling to answer Lord Namo’s call? 

_The most stubborn of all elves, my own sire, resides in Mandos despite his feelings towards the Valar._ Stepping out onto the parapet, Mornel took a deep breath to focus and looked into the spirit plane as Olorin had taught her. She could see the many flickers of lights where various residents of the keep worked, slumbered, or went about their business. There was a single glow in the North Wing. Definitely Elven. There was no taint of malice or darkness about it. However, it was quite faint. Perhaps someone was injured.   

She strode across the bridge that lead to the old living quarters of her family, her dagger clutched loosely in her hand. The door was unlocked. Mornel pushed it open when two voices called out from behind.

“Sis?” Mornel spun around to see her twin brothers. Both were wearing only their nightshirts but they were armed. Pityo was holding a fireplace poker while Telvo brandished a lampstand. Their wives insisted that any weapons be left in the main hall as a token of friendship when visiting Mornel.

“We saw the light from the gallery…”

“We overheard the servants whispering about strange things…”

“And decided to investigate…”

“What strange things?” Mornel wished her servants had been more open with her about any strange observations they had made. Already she missed the blunt and outspoken Tatie. Yet she could not begrudge her lieutenant a long and well-earned vacation at Lord Orome’s with her spouse. The twins briefly filled her in on the stranger happenings and disappearing food.

“It could be one of those Avari shamans going on a vision-quest…” Mornel tried to reassure her brothers. “They would shun all contact with other elves for months…”

“They would prefer the open steppes or the woods, right? Or at most a cave,” Pityo was not convinced. “I cannot imagine one camping out in a ruined building.”

“Is that any more unreasonable than unhoused fea?” Telvo whispered. The trio stepped into the dusty hallway beyond. Mornel wondered why she had not relented to suggestions by the council to have the entire wing renovated. The wooden floors were falling apart and parts of the roof had fallen in.

“Look,” Telvo nudged his sister and pointed at the floor. There were footprints in the dust. They led to one of the rooms, _Finwe’s._ The door was shut but a faint glow emanated from under it. The three elves nodded silently at each other before knocking on the door. It swung open, the latch having rotted away.

A ruddy-faced elf with straggly black hair yelped as he pricked his finger with the needle he was sewing with by the light of a Feanorian lamp.

* * *

 

“Caranthir, what were you thinking?” Telvo admonished his elder brother. “Why didn’t you tell us you were back?” They were in Grandfather Finwe’s former bedroom, which had suffered the least from the years. Caranthir and taken some bed linens from the laundry-house to make a passable bed.

“How did you manage to get out of Lorien without anyone telling us?” Mornel demanded.

“I had a deal with Lord Irmo… Not to let Amme or anyone else know I was back…” Caranthir sucked his finger. “Well, Aunt Findis knows I am back but she’s keeping my secret.” He had been the one taking food from the kitchens after sneaking back into Formenos. He now offered his siblings apples he had pilfered from the kitchens.

“Where did you get all these?” Pityo indicated the coloured embroidery threads, the likes of which could not be found in Formenos.

“Lady Elsornie and Lady Elenwe. I met them in Lorien when I was recovering…” Caranthir explained. “Ingwion had set up some programme to have Vanyar warriors eased back into Valmarian society after they get out of Mandos.”

Elsornie and Elenwe had gladly sent to Valmar for the embroidery threads, fabrics, and patterns Caranthir required for his project. Caranthir had decided to return for the purpose of patching things up with Helwien. He was working on an apology gift for her. If she would not have him back, Caranthir decided he would return to Lady Vaire’s Halls to work on her tapestries for the rest of his eternal life. Hence he did not wish to raise the hopes of his mother or brothers.

He then made his slow way back to Formenos on foot or hitching rides with travellers heading north. Arriving in Formenos, he had been shocked to discover his wife had moved her dye-house to there. He took to hiding in the North Wing to avoid her until the gift was ready. He was glad to learn that Helwien had gone to visit relatives in Tirion and would spend the winter in the city. He no longer needed to hide away.

Mornel was pleased to learn that Elenwe was now confident enough to leave Prince Ingwion’s mansion and was taking part in Elsornie’s work in Lorien. She studied the colourful fabric on Caranthir’s makeshift bed.

“Are you making Helwien a tapestry?” 

“It’s a dress…” Caranthir corrected.

“It’s a tent!” Pityo jested. Caranthir swatted at him. Mornel lifted the garment. It was the latest fashion in Valmar – a full skirt with a high waist and billowy sleeves. Caranthir had substituted the sheer silks normally used for the sleeves with heavier linen fabrics for embroidery. Thus the dress lost the grace which made the style so favoured in Valmar. Now it was just bulky and a riot of colour.

“Morifinwe Carnistir, how well do you know your wife? Do you seriously think she will wear this?” Mornel chided. Helwien might just throw the entire thing onto a bonfire. “Sew a tapestry or a dress that suits her.”

 “What do you suggest?” Caranthir looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps something with less colour and embroidery? And lighter skirts and sleeves?”

“How about we get some suggestions from Isilmire and Lomire tomorrow morning?” Telvo rubbed his eyes. “We all need some rest.”

“Tomorrow, you will write a letter to Amme and I will send it out to Tol Eressea,” Mornel added to Caranthir. “Now we better take Telvo’s advice and get some reverie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caranthir is back and owes his siblings his thanks for not blowing his chances at winning back his wife by presenting her with an awful tent-tapestry-dress thing. 
> 
> I imagine that Unhoused fea or elf-ghosts would have been part of the lore of the early elves. Caranthir has just returned from Mandos and his light is weaker on the spirit-plane as he is still recovering.


	19. Apologies Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caranthir takes a leap of faith and approaches his long estranged wife. Of course things do not go as planned where the Feanorions are concerned.

“Do you seriously think she will like it?” Caranthir asked.

The dress was finally completed as the first buds of spring stirred to life. And not a moment too soon. Twice during the long winter, he had ripped out his work in disgust. Sewing a garment more complex than a shirt was not something he was skilled in. The final product now stood draped on a tailor’s dummy.

“Of course,” Mornel smiled. The dress was a lovely shade of kingfisher blue with white embroidered designs at the square neckline, cuffs, and loose flowing skirts. Further green designs trimmed the hem of the skirt, bringing to mind rippling reeds in a river. The waist was trimmed with a V-shaped belt of indigo velvet. Helwien’s own dye-house had provided most of the cloth for her husband’s gift as the rest of the velvet Caranthir had obtained from Valmar was quite ruined by the second time he had to unpick the stitches.

The dress should fit her law-sister. Mornel had the foresight to obtain the measurements from the seamstress in Formenos who had recently stitched a new dress for Helwien to wear when visiting her family. Her law-sisters had inherited their mother’s eye for fashion and provided much needed advice.

Helwien had written that she would only return in the later part of the season, staying to spend the Festival of Flowers with her family in TIrion. There was a cousin who was visiting from the south whom she had not seen for several yeni. 

“I guess I should get going then,” Caranthir muttered.

“So soon?” Mornel asked in surprise and frowned at a fresh ink blot on her accounts ledger.

“Shouldn’t you wait for Helwien first?” Pityo glanced up from bottle-feeding a kitten who had been rejected by her mother. Lomire was mending one of his shirts and accidentally pricked her finger. She too was surprised by Caranthir’s words. Telvo and Isilmire had volunteered to go help the shepherds round up the early lambs. It was not unheard of for hardy black-faced ewes to have their lambs in the snows out on the moors despite their efforts to keep any expectant ewes penned until spring. If they were home, there was no doubt they would have some words to say to Caranthir.

“I am going to meet her in Tirion,” Caranthir decided.

“The roads aren’t quite free of snow yet in the high passes,” Mornel warned. “Wait a week…”

“No, I will leave today,” Caranthir insisted with his characteristic stubbornness.

“I’ll have the kitchen prepare some rations for the journey then,” Lomire nodded at Mornel before leaving the room. Mornel appreciated the gesture in giving the Feanorian siblings some privacy to sort things out.

“What will you do afterwards? Will you come back to Formenos? Or would you stay to swear fealty to Uncle Ara?” his redhead brother asked.

“If she will not have me back, I will head back to Lady Vaire’s Halls…”

Mornel belatedly realised that they had not informed the Noldoran of his nephew’s return. She did not know if Aunt Findis had informed her brother. Perhaps she too was bound to honour Caranthir’s wish for confidentiality as a healer of Lorien. If Caranthir should surprise any unfriendly elves, things could get ugly.

“I thought Lady Vaire only accepts handmaidens,” Pityo remarked. “Will we see you in a dress then?” He dodged a half-hearted swat from his brother.

“Well, I suppose the Lady could make an exception in his case,” Mornel coaxed. “However, I doubt it will come to that. Caranthir, I will travel with you to Tirion. We can’t have you falling off the road or under a pile of snow. Whatever will Amme say?”

“Better you than me, sis,” Pityo put down his squirming charge back into her basket. “We suppose Grandfather Mahtan and us can keep an eye on things here until Tatie gets back from her vacation.”

* * *

 

Their journey passed in silence for most part. Despite Mornel’s attempts to hold a conversation, Caranthir was an elf of few words. He did let loose a string of curses in Khuzdul when Fearocco decided to chew on his satchel to get at an apple inside, tearing it open and scattering the contents in the mud. Thankfully, the dress was unscathed.

Once or twice, he would pause at a familiar place to reminisce about the past during the Time of the Trees, often slipping from Sindarin or contemporary Quenya into the archaic version of Quenya Feanor was said to have favoured. He told Mornel of the trips Feanor took his sons on in those halcyon times. Too much had changed since. Elven settlements had sprung up where there was once untouched woodlands. The land itself had changed with the raising and lowering of the Pelori by the Valar. The flora and fauna had adapted to thrive with the cycles of the Sun and Moon.

Mornel could sense her brother’s growing unease as they approached the White City. She had already informed him where Helwien’s family now dwelled. She had even sent ahead a falcon to inform Arafinwe of their coming arrival and requested for anonymity. Caranthir did not need a welcoming party.

At the city gates, Caranthir kept his hood on and his face shielded. The guards recognized Mornel’s horse and waved them both through without a second glance. The fearsome steed was identification enough for them their king's niece was in town. 

Mornel parted ways with Caranthir in a quiet cul-de-sac, pointing out a stable where his horse could be rubbed down, fed, and watered. She would continue to the palace to greet their uncle and stable her horse there, so she informed him.

“Will you not come with me?” Caranthir asked in an almost pleading tone.

“Nay, brother. You have to face Helwien alone,” Mornel threw her words carelessly over her shoulder. She trotted down the road and turned at the crossroad.

 _My lady, are you seriously letting that fool go alone?_ Fearocco asked.

 _Not quite,_ Mornel replied mischievously. _You are a bit conspicuous, my friend._

 _How about I head out of the Little West Gate near here for a quick trot in the meadows?_ Fearocco whinnied. _There’s a sweet mare there I would love to know better…_

 _Fine, just stay out of any fights…_ Mornel dismounted and removed Fearocco’s bridle and saddle. The horse neighed his thanks and galloped off down a thankfully empty street to the little-used side gate of the city. Any luckless guard there would do well not to try stopping him. Mornel took the saddle and bridle to a nearby leatherworker’s shop for mending. The strap fastening the saddle was wearing out and the bit needed replacing.  

* * *

 

Caranthir found the large house easily enough. The house was jestingly referred to as the Boot for its odd shape. Part of the house was four storeys high while an extension had been added at the ground floor with a rounded workshop at the end. The windows did not match and even the roof tiles were of different colours. A dozen elflings pranced and danced on the thatched roof of the extension, gleefully ignoring their minders’ demands to cease their games. One luckless elfling plunged through the straw with a yelp. 

The master of the household was a cobbler and a large boot was hung above the door. Someone living on the upper levels dealt in hats and had their merchandise hanging out the windows. Helwien’s kin had done exceedingly well by venturing into other crafts beyond their dye-houses. Caranthir ducked a hammer that flew out the window as an irate master berated his apprentice. The hammer was followed by a half-finished shoe. _Some things never change._ There was an air of organised chaos about the place so reminiscent of Tirion’s Artisan Quarter. Somewhere in that chaos was his wife. A rickety series of wooden stairs led up to a door on the third level.

“I swear, if I ever hear…”

This door opened and Caranthir saw the familiar figure of his wife making her way down the stairs. The stairs were so steep, she had to take them backwards. He allowed himself an admiring glance at her swaying hips as she gingerly negotiated her way down.

A scowling face peered out of the door and Caranthir frowned. It belonged to a particularly unpleasant kinswoman of Helwien’s. She was ancient and had followed her tribe from Cuivienen during the Great Journey. Caranthir often wondered if she was part-orc and if any of the Tatyar had declined to follow Finwe when they learnt she was going with his party. At least the orcs he encountered did not go about spreading malicious gossip…

“Oho! Look who’s here!”

Caranthir bit back a caustic response. It would never do to goad her. Helwien looked back over her shoulder and missed a step. Caranthir ran forward to catch her if she fell but his wife regained her footing.

“What brings you to darken my door, Kinslayer?” the old she-elf screeched. That got everyone’s attention. The elflings ceased their gambols. Even the chickens in the yard looked up from their pecking and scratching.

“It’s not your door to start with,” Helwien retorted, having both feet back on solid ground. “Go back inside and quit bothering us all.”

“Wretched child! Your father will hear from me about this!” she glared at Helwien and then Caranthir. Caranthir returned the glare, refusing to be cowed. He strode over to the discarded hammer and hefted it as if considering its weight. Without a word, he flung the hammer at the doorway. The she-elf yelped and slammed the door shut. The tool harmlessly bounced off it to laughter from the onlookers.

The presence of a Feanorion was quickly overlooked as elves returned to their chores. Caranthir was left staring at Helwien. She had barely changed since they parted ways – _same mane of unruly red hair, deep blue eyes, generous bosom and hips…_

“Well, are you going to gawk at my breasts like some callow youth or tell me what in Mandos you are doing here?”

“Helwien… I-I…am…”

“Say it already!” someone called out from the workshop. Caranthir choked on his words. Helwien folded her arms and waited for him to regain his breath. Perhaps meeting Helwien in such a crowded setting was a miscalculation.

“C-can we go inside first?” Caranthir suggested. Helwien refused to be persuaded.

“We don’t have all day!” someone else shouted from an upstairs window. Caranthir fought the urge to beat the heckler with a giant boot.

Hidden behind a cart, Mornel groaned. This was not working out well at all.

“Helwien,” Caranthir took a deep breath before continuing. “I am sorry I acted like a cad. I was a fool for not listening to you and remaining in Aman. You were right about everything…”

“Oh, am I right about that Haleth chit too? Did you take her as your wife in Endore?” Helwien retorted. “I have heard tales of you and that Secondborn… Thought to take a leaf from your grandfather’s book, did you?”

“H-Haleth? Who told you we were wed? I swear by the Valar there was nothing between us! I looked on her as a daughter,” Caranthir started. “Helwien, you are my one and only…” Helwien’s eyes darted towards the rickety staircase. “Oh, that she-orc…” Understanding dawned on Caranthir.

Husband and wife strode over to the wooden stairs. Someone had left a wood axe nearby. _How convenient._ With a nod from Helwien, Caranthir took up the axe and hacked the bottom stairs to pieces. The rest of the stairs detached themselves from the building and collapsed in a cloud of sawdust and splinters amidst protests and pleads from the now trapped she-elf.

“Don’t worry, your son will fix them up, when and if he gets back from Lorien!” Helwien replied.

“I’d starve before then!”

“I just brought you your lunch hamper. Just lower the basket down on a rope and maybe someone will drop in some bread,” Helwien threw back and returned her attention to Caranthir. “Now, oh, is that for me?”

Caranthir took out a parcel of brown cloth from his satchel and held it before him like an offering. He knelt before his wife in the dust and mud of the yard. A bold rooster strutted over and pecked at his boot but he did not react.  

“Why, a gift for me?” Helwien took the parcel and unwrapped it. She gasped and held the dress to her breast.

“It is beautiful. Wait, did you use the same blue cloth produced by my dye-house up north?”

“Only because it brings out the blue in your eyes…”

“Flatterer…” Helwien softened her demeanour and tapped a finger against his cheek.

“So, you will have me back?” Caranthir’s heart rose with his hopes.

“Let me think…” Helwien teased. “Remember you said you looked on that Haleth woman as a daughter? How about we try for a strong daughter of our own?”

“With her mother’s strength, beauty,” Caranthir rose and took his wife’s hands in his.

“How about we get started on that project about now?” Helwien laughed and brazenly reached between them to take him in her hand. Caranthir stifled a groan under her touch, which she stifled with her lips.

“There are elflings watching…” an elleth warned.

“Get a room already!” another elf hooted. With a smile, Helwien smiled and batted her lashes. She pulled away from Caranthir and opened the main door of the house. He did not need further urging to follow her.

“Ick! They will be doing it in our room!” a young elleth with dark eyes complained. She was probably Helwien’s roommate. It was common for visiting relations to share rooms and sometimes beds in such households.

“Never mind, you can share my bed,” an ellon teased and promptly had his ears boxed by said elleth.

Mornel let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. She left her hiding place and started off in the direction of the palace. She would need to discuss Caranthir’s return with their uncle and set a date for his fealty-swearing ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Helwien’s family house as looking like the Shoe-house from the nursery rhyme, complete with grouchy old woman in residence. 
> 
> As to whether the pair will progress any further on their quest for children, that will be up to Eru’s will.


	20. Pomp and Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caranthir is nervous about the fealty-swearing ceremony and his cousins try to set his mind at ease. Mornel goes ahead to Alqualonde to prepare them for a visit from her brother.

“It will not work out!”

Caranthir threw up his hands in disgust. He was wearing his wine-red formal robes with the device of his house embroidered on the vest. Large opal brooches fastened his vest at the shoulders. His dark hair had been tamed into braids fastened with onyx and opal clips.

“Come on, cousin. It wouldn’t be that bad. Look, we have scheduled you between Penlod and Ecthelion,” Finrod coaxed. “We will also have Rog, Egalmoth, and Lord Guilin’s son, Gelmir… it will be quite a turnout. Even Aunt Nerdanel will be there. No one will notice you.”

“Relax, no one did anything to the Ambarussa…” Glorfindel added. “Well, Earendil did give Amras a sore jaw for Sirion…”

“How did I get this then?” Caranthir pointed at his black eye.

It had seemed a good idea to go to a local tavern in the city to sample some Sindarin fare with his wife two nights ago. What he did not expect was to run into some survivors of Doriath. The entire place exploded into a full-blown brawl. Thankfully, Helwien was unscathed for the most part and the city guards broke up the fighting before it got worse. Caranthir was forced to spend a night in a cell before Helwien convinced her family to bail him out.

“A touch of face powder should fix it…” Finrod offered. Caranthir grumbled and surrendered to his cousin’s ministrations with a brush. He wished his sister had remained in Tirion to support him. Instead, Mornel had ridden ahead to inform King Olwe of her brother’s intention to visit Alqualonde for a honeymoon with his wife. She trusted Finrod and Glorfindel to help Caranthir with the preparations for the ceremony.

With the increasing numbers of noble Noldor leaving Mandos, the palace had decided to hold joint ceremonies for the returnees to swear fealty together so that they would not have to wait too long to do so. Arafinwe also argued that it would be more economical to hold a single banquet instead of several and it would in no way dilute the gravity of the ceremony.

There had been much discussion among the lords of Gondolin as to whether their pledge to Turgon still held and whether it would be proper to pledge their loyalty to a second lord without their master’s leave. Most like Penlod agreed that that pledge ended with the fall of Gondolin but a handful like Glorfindel differed. Many nobles were left loitering idly about the Noldoran’s court. There was little to do with regards to defence and armies in the Blessed Realm and many found their former positions already occupied. Lord Rog had submitted a request to the Guild of Blacksmiths to open his own smithy in the city and Ecthelion was applying for a teaching post in the Academy of Music.

“Come on, smile a bit. I will have my man Edrahil bring us some light refreshment first. It will be a long evening ahead, Finrod soothed.

“I still feel like an idiot in these robes…” Caranthir snorted. He wished he could attend the ceremony in his casual clothes but Aunt Anaire was having none of that. She sent her son and a tailor to have Caranthir measured for proper ceremonial robes. At least he convinced them to include the device of his House.

“You haven’t seen Glorfindel’s formal robes yet…” Finrod laughed.

* * *

 

“I never attended such a formal banquet before…” Helwien murmured as Lady Eldalote fought to tame her unruly hair. She wore the new dress she had received from Caranthir.

“You’ll do fine…” her friend reassured her. Amarie nodded, her mouth full of pins as she tried to tie back Nerdanel’s hair with assorted ribbons. Their handmaidens had already given up the fight to have the Feanorian women’s hair fashionably done up in the Tirion style.

“Leave it,” Nerdanel decided. “We will wear our hair free.” She wore a close-fitted gown of jade green and a gold necklace Feanor had given her after the birth of their eldest. She wished her daughter and twin sons could be present too. However, the Ambarussa have received an invitation from the Lord of the Hunt himself and Mornel had business to see to in Alqualonde.

* * *

 

In Alqualonde, Mornel sipped at her wine as she sat on Olwe’s terrace with her hosts.

“So that is the third of your brothers back. Will you like us to hold a formal welcome like for the Ambarussa?” King Olwe asked.

“Actually, he would like some privacy to rekindle his bond with his wife,” Mornel interjected and politely declined a second helping of pudding from her hostess. “We might be able to get him present flowers at the memorial… Are all those slain out already?”

“Ah, I believe we still have a few stubborn ones in Mandos… We could respect your brother’s wish for privacy but it will be prudent to have Olwe first announce an official pardon before the city…” Queen Falmiril said with a twinkle in her eye. “After which we could suggest a little cottage to the north of here, perfect for couples… With Lady Yavanna’s blessings, may they soon have the pattering of tiny feet through their house.” 

“Somewhat quick-tempered one, so I recall. Yet a good lad at heart, back in the Years of the Trees. Has Mandos tamed his fire?” King Olwe mused.

“Caranthir still has a bit of a temper though I hear he is more patient now,” Mornel replied. “I do wish…” _The rest of my brothers and father may be healed and returned to Valinor._

“In due time, child,” Queen Falmiril cooed and patted Mornel’s hand reassuringly.

* * *

 

“Hey, Morifinwe, nice black eye. Heard about the brawl… Did you really break someone’s neck?”

“Of course not, Lord Aranwe,” Caranthir grated as he waited in line. He was never on good terms with Lord Aranwe, not even back when his grandfather sat on the throne. Aranwe was one of Uncle Nolo’s followers, who later retreated into Turgon’s hidden city. Now Caranthir felt like breaking his nose.

“Peace, friend,” Lord Ecthelion put a restraining hand on Caranthir’s elbow. “It’ll be your turn soon… don’t let him provoke you.” The touch grounded him.

Resplendent in his ceremonial robes, Arafinwe accepted the pledge offered by Lord Penlod. The crowd broke into polite applause. Caranthir glanced over to where his wife and mother stood flanked by Glorfindel and Lady Amarie. Their red hair stood out among the dark and blond hair so common in the court. Finrod and his son flanked the Noldoran’s throne. Celeglass looked decidedly ill at ease in his heavy ceremonial garb.

Caranthir took a deep breath and stepped forward. A dead silence fell over the hall at the sight of the Feanorian star on his chest. He knelt and spoke the words of the pledge. Eyes trained on the carpet, he waited for his uncle to accept the pledge and bid him rise. Instead, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up into his uncle’s kind blue eyes. The Noldoran had risen from his throne, descended from his dais, and now crouched before him.

“Rise, my brother-son, I accept your pledge.” With those words, Arafinwe helped his nephew to his feet and embraced him. The hall erupted in cheers.

* * *

 

“Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” Mornel remarked as they walked away from the memorial.

“I still feel stupid,” Caranthir grumbled. Two weeks after swearing fealty to his king and uncle, he had just placed flowers at the memorial in Alqualonde. King Olwe had pronounced his pardon before the citizens.  

Caranthir had been pranked on arrival by having a bucket of slime-fish emptied on his head as he walked through the gateway of the Swan Haven. Having his outer garments utterly ruined by the foul-smelling slime, he had stripped to his undershirt before realising that King Olwe and his family were there to welcome them, along with half of the citizens of Alqualonde. Only the presence of his mother and wife stopped him from flying into a rage.  

Unable to obtain clean clothes in time, he had greeted the welcome party clad only in his undershirt and boots.

“Slime-fish taste like buttered chicken when grilled,” Earwen offered. “The cooks will be so mad they are short of ingredients for tonight’s dinner.” She was visiting her parents for the summer in an informal capacity and had joined the Feanorian party as they travelled from Tirion. She too was shocked by her younger brothers’ audacity in pranking their guest. Slime-fish was a Telerin delicacy, notoriously hard to catch, and impossible to rear in farms.

“What’s this I hear from the queen about some small cottage by the sea?” Helwien demanded.

“It’s just somewhere private for you two to rekindle your bond,” Mornel explained. “If you need meals to be cooked and delivered, I am sure we can make arrangements with His Majesty’s kitchens. After all, you’re his guests.”

“I hope there will not be too many banquets and receptions… You should have seen the number of invites we got…” Caranthir added. “Even from folks like Aranwe…”

“And you politely told them all to stuff it up their asses,” Nerdanel chided.

“Not all of them,” Helwien corrected. “We did attend Lord Ecthelion’s little get-together with Cousin Glorfindel and that dinner at Lord Rog’s. He actually had the ham roasted in his forge. He's quite nice really. I bet he and Grandfather Mahtan will get along well…” 

“Rest assured there will be no formal banquets,” Mornel promised. “Their Majesties have invited us for an informal dinner tonight but that should be it. Moreover, with His Majesty’s pardon, you should be able to walk freely in the market without any incidents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caranthir was said to be the harshest and quickest to anger of his brothers. Despite his time in Mandos, a bit of his temper is still there. I imagine that the Noldor who died in the First Age will be making their way back to Aman. Ecthelion and Rog would not have held much grudges against the Feanorions. I picture Rog as being possibly of mixed Noldo-Avari parentage and born in Beleriand. Ecthelion might have survived the Grinding Ice but shares the same forgiving nature as his friend Glorfindel. Both lords extended their sincere friendship to Caranthir and he accepted it. 
> 
> The Teleri princes will definitely get an earful for ruining one of the planned dishes for their dinner.


	21. Still Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel meets another of her law-sisters.

“So we got together and submitted a petition to the Valar,” Lomire explained. “It was a bit of a shock for the Maiar really. Since the entire thing was initiated by the Vanyar.” Her audience laughed. Under their High King, the Vanyar had earned a reputation for being obedient to the point of docility, unlike the rebellious Noldor.

“Actually, the Avari and Nandor clans already have a similar arrangement, quiet of course…” Pityo added. Kinship terms were a bit more complicated for the Avari. Some tribes had their elflings acknowledge their chief and his wife as father and mother before outsiders. _It takes a tribe to raise an elfling_ , so they said.

The Feanorions were visiting Tirion. The party had taken rooms at an inn so as not to impose on their uncle. Glorfindel had recommended the place for its clean, spacious rooms and good food. Moreover, it was located close to the palace.

“In Beleriand, if an elfling loses his parents, the next-of-kin or the clan would take him in,” Telvo pointed out. “We have quite a number of childless Vanyar couples willing to offer a loving home for elflings in need.”

“We argued that instead of leaving these elflings to slumber in Mandos until the Second Music or force the return of parents who may not have healed enough to raise them and may never recover, it would be better for them to be allowed a chance to grow up with foster parents in Aman,” Isilmire smiled. “With their parents’ blessings of course.”

“Then there are those quendi who were forcibly turned into orcs by the Enemy… The Maiar are not sure if they may be safely released from Mandos,” Lomire added. “I believe they will try to heal their fear before putting them into bodies matching those they had before being corrupted. The risk is that they may no longer recognize their hroar before the corruption and end up unhoused, so they tell Ingil…”

“Are there any Noldor couples seeking to adopt?” Mornel asked. Her law-sisters blushed.

“We put our names down… The Maiar said they will need to see if we are suitable first…” Telvo said. The twins’ marriages were still childless despite the many cycles of the sun that had passed. Healers in Lorien feared that the injuries suffered by the Vanyar twins in their first lives might have render them barren in spite of the new bodies they had been given.

Caranthir wondered aloud if the vaunted fertility of their parents had failed to pass onto him and his brothers. Only Curufin had managed to sire a son with his mouse of a wife. He and Helwien were childless too and it was not for want of trying. Mornel could attest to the many complaints from other residents of Formenos regarding her brother and law-sister’s vocal bed-games.

“Is Quildenen out yet?” Helwien laughed and gave her husband a gentle push when he reached over to squeeze her knee.

“Not sure,” Caranthir grinned. “How about we get to bed?” The amorous couple took their leave of the party. Mornel shrugged. The sun was still high in the sky and reverie was the farthest thing from Caranthir’s mind.

“I hope they remember we have dinner with Aunt Anaire and Cousin Arakano lined up…” Telvo murmured. “Strange, we haven’t thought about her in a while…”

“Who?” Pityo asked.

“Curufin’s wife, you dolt…” Telvo replied. “She was with us in Formenos during the exile, and followed us on the ships…”

“Oh yes, Quildenen… that quiet little mouse,” Pityo nodded. “I don’t see any reasons why she should not be out. It’s not as though she was involved in the Kinslayings…”

“Do you need us to check with the Maiar the next time we are in Lorien?” Lomire asked.

“Nay, I suppose she will turn up when she is ready…” Pityo replied. His law-sister had been young then, and barely able to hold her own against their more dominant brother. Life at Formenos had been difficult for her. Perhaps Beleriand had hardened her. After all, she had borne a child there.  

* * *

 

Mornel always enjoyed taking a stroll through the colourful Artisan’s Quarter. She was alone as her law-sisters had taken their husbands to have new clothes made at the tailor’s this afternoon. Caranthir and Helwien were working on a project in the palace at Uncle Ara’s request. There was some time before she was to meet with Glorfindel and his sister at the theatre. They were to attend a production on the Rebellion of the Noldor and Mornel was eager to view this interpretation. A particularly talented singer was cast as Nolofinwe and Glorfindel admitted that his sister secretly adored the elf.  

There had been a few unpleasant incidents previously when she ran into survivors from Doriath or Sirion mistaking her for Curufin. However, these confrontations were rare now as news of her friendship with Lady Elwing and Lord Earendil spread among the Sindar. She was a grown elf and a seasoned warrior capable of taking care of herself.

Mornel sensed eyes on her as she watched a pair of playful kittens by a florist’s stall. She slowly turned but nothing seemed amiss. She could not use the other sight here, not with so many elves about. The uneasy sensation of being watched lingered as she bought some hair ribbons.

“Is someone following me?” Mornel chirped to a city sparrow perched on a fence. The bird nodded.

 _Friend or foe?_ Mornel regretted not wearing a dress instead of her leggings. Once on Tol Eressea, she had almost been stabbed by a newly-arrived survivor of Doriath while dining with friends by the pier in a case of mistaken identity. Thankfully, Voronwe had been there to intervene and defuse the situation. The blade had sliced through the back of her shirt. The incident had unnerved her for the reminder of her stay and she was not looking forward to a repeat.

“Dark hair, pale, skinny thing…” the sparrow offered helpfully. Mornel thanked the bird and he flitted off to find a juicy worm. That description could match four out of five of the shoppers and vendors in the Crafts Market. She had no heart for further shopping.

* * *

 

Laurelosse looked luscious in her emerald-green gown. Her hair was done up in the latest Tirion fashion of elaborate braids. Glorfindel was a stunning, if not intimidating, escort in his white tunic and cape. Mornel felt almost underdressed in her plain grey dress. She had brought no jewellery and did not feel like borrowing any from her cousins. The elves took their seats in the theatre just before the curtain rose. The lead started singing his aria as Feanor. It had taken a while for the Noldor to even acknowledge this dark chapter in their history. Mornel was glad that the production did not seek to portray her father as a monster but more a fallen hero. Laurelosse shyly sent a note backstage for her idol after the final curtain.

“Mornel, we are being watched,” Glorfindel leaned towards her and whispered as they waited for Laurelosse on the steps of the theatre. Mornel gave a slight nod and glanced over her shoulder. She caught sight of a brown cloak disappearing down a side-street.

“Wait!” Mornel gave chase. Glorfindel followed.

Their target was quicker and surer in the maze of alleyways. Mornel and her cousin ran out of an alley to find themselves standing in the moonlit and now deserted Craft Market.

“Whoever that was, she means you no harm,” Glorfindel said quietly. “It’s a she, judging from the size of her boots.” He had dropped to his haunches to inspect a fresh print left in the mud.

“Who is she?” Mornel wondered aloud.

* * *

 

“Sitting for a formal portrait?” Mornel tried to sound neutral. Her brothers were far less diplomatic.

“It’s His Majesty’s request,” Lady Anaire’s hands fluttered nervously as the trio voiced their displeasure. The House of Feanor never sat for any formal portraits back in the Years of the Trees. It was true Maitimo and Makalaure had been persuaded by their grandfather to sit for individual portraits but not their younger brothers. Even Nerdanel had never posed for any portraits despite being wife to the Crown Prince.

“Come on, it wouldn’t be that bad,” Arakano coaxed. “We can get some formal robes from the palace. I hear Master Carmendur is quite skilled and it will over in minutes!” Their cousin pointed at a recent portrait of himself. Garbed as a warrior, Arakano was standing before a banner bearing the crest of his father’s House. A falcon was perched on his gloved hand, wings poised as if ready for flight. He looked every bit the warrior he had hoped to be, and could have been had it not been for his untimely death in Beleriand.

Arakano then indicated another portrait, this one of Finrod and his family. Finrod stood behind Amarie as she sat in a wicker chair. Their young son sat at her feet. Two of the family’s many hounds flanked the family. A third drowsed with its head in Celeglass’ lap. Instead of looking at the viewer, the parents were gazing into each other’s eyes lovingly while the elfling’s attention was for his furry friend. Mornel was persuaded.

“So, do we sit for the portrait together or separately?” Mornel asked. Her law-sisters and Caranthir would make quick work fitting the robes if needed. Persuaded by their sister and wives, the Feanorions started trying on the various robes before the royal court artist arrived.

The both sets of twins decided to pose together on the balcony where the flowering wisteria made a lovely frame. Caranthir and Helwien chose an open window as a backdrop. Servants were called to move the furniture for the sitting. Mornel was helping to braid ribbons into Isilmire’s hair when a servant came to speak with her aunt.

“Oh dear, it seems Master Carmendur has just fallen off a ladder and may have broken his arm,” Lady Anaire announced. “But not to worry, he has sent his niece to do the portraits in his stead. He claims she is talented…”

There was a monstrous clatter as paints, easel, and canvas hit the floor. A dark-haired nis in a brown smock stood in the open door, hands up to her mouth as if in shock. On the carpet, spilled paints and oils mingled, eliciting a string of curses from the luckless palace servants who would be tasked with cleaning it.

“Curufin…” the poor nis mumbled before fleeing. Everyone froze except Mornel.

“Wait!” Mornel acted, running over to the door and leaping over the mess. The nis was crying hidden behind a life-sized statue of Lady Yavanna.

“Peace, I am not Curufin, but his sister…” Mornel spoke gently, careful not to spook her. “I am Mornel Feanoriel.”

The nis blinked tears from her dark eyes. “Forgive me, my lady. You look so much like him… I thought he was back…”

“Would you like to rest for a bit before we start the sitting?” Mornel guided her gently over to a bench in the hall.

“Oh! My paints! Uncle will be so mad. I have to send back for more…” the artist exclaimed. Mornel waved over a servant to send a messenger to fetch more art supplies.

* * *

 

The portraits would take several days to finish, with frequent breaks for Caranthir and Helwien to undertake their project of refurbishing Arafinwe's library with new tapestries. The twins' portraits were done in almost a rustic manner instead of the opulent settings most nobles would have preferred. The wives held baskets of fruit and flowers in tribute to the Valie Yavanna and Vana. Their husbands held bows in allusion to the Lord of the Hunt. Both Caranthir and Helwien decided on a dress style which was fashionable among the Edain in Beleriand. Helwien even held a shield to match Caranthir's spear as a warrior's wife.

The artist's name was Quildenen and she was the wife of Curufin. Mornel wondered what she thought as she painted the happy couples. After the initial outburst, she never let any further emotions show on her pale face. The court artist was not mistaken about her talent. The flowers in the twins' portrait seemed so lifelike that butterflies would alight on the canvas.

Mornel's portrait was a little trickier. Uncle Arafinwe and Aunt Earwen insisted she wear the silver circlet which identified her as a member of the House of Finwe. Her raven hair was styled in soft waves. A flowing white gown with silver embroidery, hurriedly adapted from one of Laurelosse's cast-off dresses, paired with an amethyst necklace, completed the look of a princess. She posed with a totally impractical long-feathered quill with scrolls at her feet and a large harp at her back. Caranthir jestingly said their uncle was trying to reuse the settings for Maglor's or Finrod's portraits. Mornel would rather have donned her heavy armour from the War and held her uncle's war banner.

Biting her lip and without a word, Quildenen set to work. The twins, Caranthir, and Helwien has tried in turn to draw her out of her shell to no avail. Helwien learned from visiting Master Carmendur at the city's House of Healing that Quildenen had returned to her parents from Lorien some seasons back but had spoken little of her life in Beleriand. The master artist had been surprised to learn that his niece had borne a son there. Quildenen had stayed in Tirion all this while with her family. No one had thought to inform her in-laws and she did not make any fuss.  _Why should she?_ She was not of noble birth and hence not important enough to deserve the notice of the king's household. At least she was of some use around the studio to touch up paintings when things got hectic.

"No one really notices her," Caranthir had admitted. "In Formenos, Grandfather had to even remind the servants to set a place for her at meals."

"Why not Curufin? After all, she's his wife…" Mornel had asked.

"Curufin? He was too busy playing up to Atto. After all, it was not as though she would have taken off like Amme did. He could be very charming when it suits him."  _And we doubt she would have defied him,_  Caranthir had left the words unspoken. Things were little better in Beleriand. In fact, many forgot Curufin had his wife with him during the time he held Himlad.

* * *

 

"What was he like, my brother Curufin?" Mornel asked aloud, startling Quildenen and causing her to drop her brush.

"I-I'm s-sorry…" Quildenen stuttered. "Oh, it's ruined!" she exclaimed.

"It's my fault for startling you," Mornel rose from the bench she had been sitting on. She walked over to the artist and was dismayed to see that the brush had left a streak of black down the canvas. Quildenen had almost finished the portrait. Now she would have to start over. Mornel also noticed that although the intricate details of her hairdo, garb, and even the props have been completed, her face remained little more than a sketch.

"I'm sorry, I just can't paint…" the artist broke into a flood of tears.

"Never mind the portrait… Uncle will understand," Mornel soothed her like she would an elfling and rang for a servant to fetch some mint tea and ginger biscuits from the palace kitchen.

"You must have loved him very much…" Mornel said. Quildenen nodded.

"I did and still do, but he changed so much… He was no longer the same elf I fell in love with…"

Curufin had bowled over his chosen with his charm and gifts. Quildenen had been readily persuaded. Likewise, she had been persuaded to go against her family's wishes to follow her husband to Formenos and later to Beleriand. In Formenos, the first cracks had appeared in their union. Curufin wanted many children and soon. His wife was less eager and felt the northern fortress ill-suited for children.

Many times, she had considered leaving Formenos but she always allowed him to win her back. She had been horrified by what happened in Alqualonde during the Darkening. Yet she had boarded the bloodied deck of a swan-ship with her spouse readily enough. Feanor's death had devastated his favourite son. Curufin had always been the most loyal of his sons.

"When Celebrimbor was born, he came back for a time to the gentle Curufinwe I knew during our courtship," Quildenen looked into the steam rising from her cup of mint tea. "He adored our son. I was thankful he did not require him to swear that terrible Oath…"

"Celebrimbor still lives in Endore… He is a smith, a skilled one…" Mornel interjected.

"My husband would be pleased. He wanted a son to follow in his father's footsteps though I believe the brilliance of Curufinwe Feanaro would be a tall order to match…" The tension had melted away from Quildenen. "When Celebrimbor was still an elfling, he had him taken from his nurse to start his education. I barely saw him afterwards. Perhaps if we had more children… but Curufin was always busy."

In Himlad, Curufin had devoted himself to his son to the extent of neglecting his wife. Celegorm's presence provided further distraction in the form of hunts and late-night drinking parties. Her only companions were the handful of warriors' wives or servant ellyth who had followed their lords to Himlad. Many of them would later perish when their fortress was overrun. Even in Mandos, Curufin had made no move to reach out to his wife.

"My brother was a fool," Mornel shook her head. "If Curufin leaves Mandos, would you have him back?"

"I am not sure… What is my son like?" Quildenen asked. With a smile, Mornel complied and described her experiences with her nephew in Beleriand.

"I fear for him. That he might have inherited the same flaw that doomed his grandfather and father. Do you think he would ever sail?"

"Perhaps someday he would walk in Aman. However, Beleriand and Endore is all he knows and many more of the Exiles chose to remain at the end of the War instead of sailing…"

* * *

 

Mornel's formal portrait was finally unveiled alongside her brothers' before the court a month later to much admiration. The portrait was unmistakably the Noldoran's niece. Mornel gazed out serenely at the viewers, a little smile on her lips. She wore the circlet and jewels befitting her rank as she sat on a stone bench with a small harp in her lap. Her sleeves were daringly tied back to expose the tattoos she had obtained on her forearm after the War. Framing her was a profusion of blooming roses and jewel-birds. Lady Indis was a tad scandalized by the open display of an Avarin-style tattoo on a noble lady but there was nothing she could do about it.

Arafinwe was relieved the portrait was not mistaken for one of his nephew or his brother. Young Curufinwe the Younger had a formal portrait done once at his father's request. The unveiling was a disaster as everyone mistook it for Curufinwe the Elder's portrait. The portrait mysteriously caught fire that night and Curufinwe the Younger refused to sit for further portraits.

There was one small hiccup though. The court painter lost his best assistant. Quildenen had decided to strike out on her own and set up a studio in Avallone, away from her family.  _The better to meet her son sooner should he decide to sail._  Mornel wrote to Nerdanel and her mother agreed to help her law-sister settle in. Perhaps in Avallone, Quildenen just might grow into her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel has met the last of her pre-Darkening law-sisters. Leaving it open if Curufin and his wife will ever mend their marriage. Given that he has been seriously neglecting her and seems to have no further interest in her after begetting a son, they might just agree to a separation if he ever gets out of Mandos.


	22. In Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Earlindo hosts a party in Tol Eressea for his nephew’s envoy. Having missed out on much of the First Age and Beleriand, Pityo and Arakano have a little discussion. Meanwhile, Nerdanel and her law-daughter both wait for the return of their sons and Caranthir helps his hostess out.

“So we were turned down as foster parents for lack of maturity, as they call it,” Pityo related. 

“It was your idea to prank Ingil, in front of the Maiar… Though I must admit I was surprised he fell for that ‘warg-on-the-loose’ lie…” Telvo added. “You should have seen how fast he scrambled up that tree.”

“Look on the bright side, we were not the only ones rejected,” Isilmire consoled. “Lady Anaire was also turned down on account her husband was still in the Halls and they wanted the elflings to have both a father and mother…”

“My mother would have appreciated having someone to care for, especially now that I am going to Numenor as His Majesty’s envoy,” Arakano smiled. “She would have made an excellent mother to those poor elflings… Thanks, my lady.”

Serelinde nodded as she went about refilling the goblets of her guests. Prince Earlindo’s household was a small one and it was not unusual for the master and his wife to serve at the table of their guests. Prince Earlindo had insisted on hosting the party at short notice after hearing of Prince Arakano Nolofinwion’s appointment to Numenor. The House of Feanor was in plentiful attendance, at least those members who could make the trip to Tol Eressea.

Still, it was a pleasant surprise that Lady Elwing had taken the initiative to invite Caranthir and his wife to visit. Finrod and Amarie would be accompanying the pair during the visit. It would be a pity to postpone it now everything was arranged. Mornel was also glad that Quildenen was adapting well to life on Tol Eressea. Earlier in the day, her law-sister had shown them about her new art studio located next to Nerdanel’s pottery studio.

Lady Anaire accompanied her son all the way to Alqualonde but had surprisingly balked at the idea of boarding the ferry to Tol Eressea. Arakano confided in Mornel that his mother had had a phobia of the sea due to a childhood accident when she almost drowned due to an overzealous Lord Osse.

“It’s a shame none of your siblings or your father are ready to be released yet,” Earlindo said as he lit a lamp. The sun had set and the first stars were already twinkling in the sky. The Vingilot shone above them.

“Beleriand left less of a mark on me than it did on them,” Arakano replied quietly.

“With the blessings of Lady Nienna, they will be healed and returned to us before long,” Mornel interjected and stole a glance at her mother and law-sister. The pair seemed exceptionally subdued at this talk of Beleriand.

“Well, Ara. Uncle has given you a second chance with Numenor. Stay away from their potent brews,” Mornel warned with a teasing smile. “We hope to hear of your exploits in the coming years, preferably outside the taverns of Numenor.”

“I accept your words of wisdom, daughter of Nerdanel the Wise,” Arakano dropped a courtly bow to his cousin amidst laughter from the twins.

“At least no one tried to stab you this time, child,” Nerdanel stroked her daughter’s cheek. On hearing a ship had just arrived at the pier from Endore, Nerdanel and Quildenen had gone there to meet it. Mornel, Arakano, and the twins had met them there after arriving on the ferry from Alqualonde. Mornel’s appearance had drawn a few curious looks but nothing in the way of malice.

It was a time of relative peace in Endore for the Eldar, many of those who might still bear the Feanorions grudges had sailed earlier at the end of the War or remained in Endore. A fair number of the Noldor Exile and Sindar had chosen to remain behind.   A few ships sailed from Lindon with elves for which the sea-longing had become unbearable or had been severely wounded without hope of recovery save in Lorien.

“It was a terrible misunderstanding…” Mornel said. That grief-stricken Sinda was unstable and should have been better watched by his minders. It was no wonder too, having first lost his wife in the Second Kinslaying, a son in the Third Kinslaying, and then his remaining son to a warg.

“You could have been killed,” Earlindo chided. As his guest, Mornel’s safety was his responsibility and he had been furious at the oversight of the healers who routinely met with the ships from Endore. Cases like the Sinda should have been conveyed to the House of Healing immediately instead of being left to wander about the island, a potential danger to themselves and others.

“Enough of such gloomy talk,” Mornel raised her goblet. “This party is in celebration of our kinsman Arakano Nolofinwion to send him off on his diplomatic career in Numenor. A toast to him!”

The plates were cleared and the sated elves adjourned to the gardens for an after-dinner stroll. Quildenen and Nerdanel both had lessons to prepare for the next morning and left for their studios. Lomire and Isilmire expressed an interest in learning to cook that delicious baked mussel rice and Serelinde welcomed them to join her in the kitchen where the recipes were kept.

Telvo complained of a slight headache from too much wine and retreated to his room. Earlindo offered to show Mornel a clutch of eggs laid by their pair of resident swans, a surprisingly friendly couple. That involved wading in the garden pond through the reeds. An activity both Arakano and Pityo declined to be a part of.

That left Pityo and Arakano standing under a willow tree on the bank.

“Do you ever regret not seeing more of Beleriand or Endore?” Arakano blurted out suddenly.

“Well, to be honest, no. I am thankful I missed out all that kinslaying and stuff… It did drive me a bit crazy at first being parted from my brother,” Pityo replied. “I doubt I would have had the stomach for all that battle…” Beleriand had not only changed Telvo, but all his brothers. Telvo had tried to cling onto that innocence the longest, seeking refuge with the Nandor, until the Oath became unbearable. Caranthir had a certain edge to him now that was more than just from his temper. The others had become almost unrecognizable to him in their own way.

“I never imagined _that_ would happen to Irisse. You know how vocal she was about not marrying and how she could hold her own in most fights… Or Findekano and Turukano becoming kings,” Arakano mused. “I imagine Finno would have hated every minute of it, being Crown Prince and later King. Turko on the other hand would have enjoyed it, so long as the Shadow’s minions stayed away. I was surprised he allowed Itarille to marry one of the Secondborn or that entire thing with Irisse’s boy… Sometimes I wonder if had I survived, anything would have been different…”

“We both died soon after arriving and missed out on the First Age. I don’t suppose we could appeal to the Valar to let us see Endore,” Pityo laughed.

“Numenor is the closest we are getting. I must admit I have no complaints,” Arakano smiled. “I bet Lord Guilin will be looking forward to returning to Aman and catching up with his son Gelmir after all this while.” Ominous splashing, hissing, yelps of pain, and flapping sounded over the crickets’ song.

“So Sis, how was the fishing?” Pityo teased as a soaking wet Mornel and Earlindo emerged from the reeds.

“The eggs have hatched and Mama took offence at us poking about her nest,” Mornel explained. “Now we both need a bath. I guess I have no luck with swans.”

“I suppose Linde could find a clean dress for you,” Earlindo said apologetically and picked a lily pad off Mornel's head. “I really thought that pen was fine with us being so close.”  

* * *

 

“This was a ploy all along, wasn’t it?” Caranthir rubbed his temples and glared at his blond cousin. The account books for Lady Elwing’s tower and the farm supplying it were laid out before him on the table. Their wives were chatting with their hostess in the tower room above.

“I have tried to make sense of it for Elwing before reaching out to you,” Finrod shrugged. “The farm is not being as productive as one would expect. Elwing hasn’t the faintest idea of running a farm. It was never part of her education to be a queen. Galathil tried to help when he moved here but there is no improvement to date.”

“And clearly you left the daily running of Nargothrond to your loyal servants,” Caranthir snapped. “It is obvious they are being charged twice the cost for grain and selling their wool off at a loss. I would really like to have a closer look at the farm itself, and their orchard.”

The Nandor and Sindar had little real experience with farming past a subsistence level and the location of Elwing’s household farm had much to be desired. Rocky soil was never good for crops. They might have to call Lady Eldalote in as a disciple of Lady Yavanna, or even appeal to the Valie and her Maiar. Caranthir had noticed deposits of tin and possibly copper ore in the area but mining could damage the land further.

“Didn’t you have advisers and the like too?” Finrod asked.

“Lost a couple to orcs and the like, would not trust the remaining ones not to give some major offense to all Dwarrow-kind. Look here, I can sort out the trade part but we might need Lady Eldalote to work out why the farm has been failing so badly. Perhaps the land is tired. Being so far off the main trade routes, they need to have something special folks will pay for.”

“Well, Elwing did mention giving away several wind-chimes and shawls she made to be sold in the nearest village… It barely reimbursed Galathil for the costs of the trip,” Finrod wondered out loud. 

“A village? I have seen her handmade baubles and shawls. They would have fetched a higher price in a city like Valmar, if only we can work out some way of transporting the goods there like we do in Formenos.” Every spring, the artisans of Formenos loaded their carts with their works and brought them to the major towns and cities to be sold or bartered.

“Seal-fur,” Caranthir grunted. “She has about five hundred of those sea-puppies on her doorstep. It’s waterproof and warm. I recall the elves of Mithrim were crazy for it.”

“Wouldn’t work, methinks Elwing is quite fond of the creatures,” Finrod winced. He had witnessed one such hunt carried out by the Edain once and it was a brutal sight. “Let me speak with Galathil first before you check out his orchard. It will never do for him to accidentally send an arrow your way.”  

“Finrod, Caranthir, why don’t you come join us?” their hostess called out from the top of the stairs. “We were just about to sample some of that orange marmalade Grandfather bought from Valmar on the fresh scones Grandmother baked.”

“Coming,” Caranthir gave a rare smile and put aside the account books. He was glad he had had a chance to speak with Elwing and gain her forgiveness. Her grandfather Galathil was still wary of him. Not that he could blame the elf. He had expected the meeting to be awkward considering Caranthir had been directly responsible for his death. A simple _“Gee, I am sorry I stabbed you in the gut,”_ just would not cut it.

* * *

 

Nerdanel was restless. She had expected to sleep easily after the dinner but reverie eluded her. Finally, she gave up and rose from her bed. She threw on her comfortable old dressing-gown, a present from her daughter, and slipped on her slippers. She padded out into the tiny moonlit yard outside her studio and was surprised to see her law-daughter sitting on the low stone wall that ran along the edge of their property.

“Can’t find reverie?” Nerdanel asked as she sat beside Quildenen, facing the sea like she was.

Quildenen nodded.

“I was wondering about my son, how he fares and when he will sail to Aman…”

“I too have a son on the Hither Shores of which there has been little news,” Nerdanel replied. There had been no news of Makalaure entering the Halls, so he must still live. She would have liked to ask Lord Ulmo or his Maiar for news but they were tight-lipped around her. Not even offerings of the best Telerin rum could persuade Lord Osse.

“The newcomers say that Celebrimbor is now a lord in a city south of Lindon where Gil-galad rules. By all accounts he has lived up to his father’s expectations as a master-smith. Yet this unsettles me…” Quildenen tugged at the end of her braid. “In this city also dwells the Noldoran’s daughter and her Sinda spouse… I wonder if they would treat him fairly…”

Quildenen tugged at her shawl, a threadbare thing patched and mended until the original colour was lost. A wind was blowing in off the sea that promised foul weather in the coming days.

“Of course Artanis will play fair by her kinsman. That child was already wise in her own way when the Trees lived. If her husband thought to gainsay her in any way, he thought wrong. Come inside with me. Let us have some mulled wine to rid us of this cold,” Nerdanel coaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some little insights to what is going on with members of the House of Feanor. 
> 
> Caranthir is trying to make amends for his past deeds and Finrod is acting as mediator. Quildenen is right to worry about her boy but she is worrying about the wrong people. Galadriel and Celeborn do not hold any ill-will towards Celebrimbor.


	23. Family Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel meets more of her extended family as more Arafinwions return from Mandos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The family that returns together stays together?

Mornel was already a familiar face in Lorien, having paid many visits to her Aunt Findis ever since her aunt pledged herself to Lady Este’s service. As a senior healer, Findis had a comfortable little cottage to call her own. It was restful place, fronted by a sweet-smelling herb garden and flanked by shady trees. She tethered her horse to a low-hanging branch.

“Behave,” Mornel warned Fearocco. The horse tossed his head and pawed at the ground. The last time she took Fearocco to Lord Orome’s Lodge, there had been an unfortunate incident involving the Vala’s hounds. Perhaps the peace of Aman was getting to Fearocco. It had been a while since they had ventured into the unknown and unexplored parts of Aman, if there were any left. She had recognized the same restlessness in her cousin Glorfindel, who had joined her on many such explorations. Recently, he had been taking off on his own without a word to his family, much to the dismay of her Aunt Lalwen.

She was surprised to see a familiar golden-haired elf at the door when it opened. It took a while to realize it was Glorfindel’s sister, Laurelosse. She was leaning on a crutch. Belatedly, Mornel recalled that an upcoming production of the _Song of Luthien_ had been cancelled after several actors were injured in a freak accident. Gossip had it that the play was cursed by the Dark Lord as it portrayed his defeat by a mere mortal.

“The prop of Morgoth’s throne fell on me…” the dancer shrugged and tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. “My knee does not quite feel right now…”

“Those incompetents in Tirion’s House of Healing made a mess of it,” a red-faced Findis snorted as she emerged from the back room. “And you should be resting, not hopping about. At least you got off easy. Your co-star is still on Lady Este’s island where they are trying to put his spine back in order. Nerves are real tricky…”

“It’s the sitting and waiting that gets to me,” Laurelosse pouted but settled obediently into the comfortable armchair by the fireplace. She picked up a sewing hoop and started stabbing at it with a needle.

“You will be up dancing again after your knee heals, right?” Mornel asked.

Laurelosse nodded. “The Maiar visit every morning to monitor the healing. If all goes well, I should be able to do some simple exercises to strengthen it… It will be a while before I can go back on stage.”

“How are they?” Mornel asked her aunt, mindful of her purpose in coming to Lorien. Arafinwe would have loved to greet his son and grandson in person but there was the official visit to Valmar he simply could not postpone.

“Lady Eldalote has been here. Angarato is now out walking with her, against my advice, of course…” Findis replied. “Artaresto and some Sinda minx are in the kitchen behind, erm…” the prudish healer turned bright red in the face.

“Aunt, she’s Cousin Orodreth’s wife and they are just cuddling,” Laurelosse rolled her eyes. “Cousin Finrod and Amarie were here earlier. Celeglass lost a friendly wrestling match with a bear in the woods, again. They managed to sew his scalp back on. He’s in Hut 9. Orodreth’s daughter Finduilas was doing quite well, until Lord Guilin’s moron son showed up.”

“What happened to her?” Mornel asked. She had heard of the ill-fated romance between Turin of the Cursed Line and their kinswoman.

“Fainted right away when that Gelmir popped up and demanded to know where she and his brother stand,” Findis sniffed. “She’s in Lady Este’s care. It’s the shock. The entire mess with that Turin should never have happened in the first place.”

“Did Gelmir mention anything about his brother having returned from Mandos?” Mornel asked.

“Gwindor Guilinion is back and apparently having problems adjusting to his new hroa,” Finrod replied grimly as he and his wife entered the cottage after visiting their son. “They have him in the bed next to my son’s after he tried to cut off his right hand. He apologizes for his brother’s behaviour and prays for Finduilas’ speedy recovery.” It was not unheard of for former thralls to have problems when reborn into new bodies similar to those they had before their enslavement. Self-harm was something the healers were trained to watch out for.

“Uncle Finrod, good to see you!” a laughing blond ellon entered the parlour from the kitchen. With him was a smiling dark-haired elleth. Their hair and clothes were in disarray, no doubt from their cuddling. There was a distinct smell of wine and some potent herb about them. The pair were giggling like a pair of naughty elflings.

“Ah, Orodreth, Salabeth, good to have you back,” Finrod smiled broadly and hugged his nephew. He dropped a kiss on the back of Salabeth’s hand. “Have you been at it again, my lady?”

“Aye, Your Majesty. Perhaps the herbs here in Aman are stronger, or we are more susceptible to the effects in our new hroar,” she hiccupped. “I meant to mix a soothing draught to ease our daughter’s heart but I fear we seem to have gotten drunk tasting it.”

“The child only needs Lady Este’s care, not some vile Avarin concoction!” Findis shook her head and took Salabeth by the arm and steered her back towards the kitchen.

“Sorry about the mess at Nargothrond, uncle, but your crown really gave me a headache…” Orodreth staggered and almost fell into Laurelosse’s lap. The annoyed elleth gave her cousin a well-placed kick with her good leg so he ended up on the rug. Finrod’s face darkened. He made a curt excuse about the lateness of the day and left. His bewildered wife followed him.  

* * *

 

“That idiot! I wish I had left Gildor in charge!” Finrod raged as Amarie tried to calm him.

“Peace, cousin,” Mornel called out. “No use getting mad at a drunk.”

After tossing a blanket over the out-cold Orodreth and helping Aunt Findis tuck his wife into the small cot in the kitchen, Mornel had hurried out after her cousin. She found the couple at the cottage gate. She also noticed to her dismay that her steed had untethered himself from the tree and was long gone.

“I feel that I should have taught him better, or left someone else in charge who would not fall so easily under the spell of Turin… we failed our people…”

“I thought it was agreed that Morgoth cursed Hurin’s line and all whose paths they cross?” Mornel pointed out. Amarie blanched and made a sign to avert evil at the mention of the Dark Lord. For all their faith in the Valar, the Vanyar seers spoke of a time in the future where the Dark Lord would return for a final battle before the Second Music. There were rumours in some factions that this time was approaching with the rise of Numenor but Mornel doubted it would be that soon.

“Well-met, brother! What are you doing standing there?” a blond ellon called out a greeting in Sindarin as he approached with Lady Eldalote. The couple were walking arm-in-arm. This could only be Angrod, Arafinwe’s second-born.

“Trying not to send your son back to Mandos,” Finrod replied tartly.

“What has the dear boy done this time?” Angrod gave a strained smile. He was every bit as tall and blond as his brother and son but his features were those of a rugged warrior.

“Gotten drunk and blurted some ill-thought words about Nargothrond,” Mornel replied.

“Yavanna’s bounty! Who knew Aunt Findis had anything in her cottage we could get drunk on?” Eldalote remarked with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

“His wife brought the concoction,” Mornel shrugged. “Are her family anywhere around here? Someone should tell them she is sleeping it off in Aunt Findis’ kitchen.”

“I saw her father earlier by the lake. Ask for Master Nordhon. She was awfully young when they were wedded. Her parents almost disowned her as they did not want her to be with a Noldo,” Angrod replied. He gave her a look of surprise and then laughed.

“Ah, you must be Mornel. Well-met. You are the splitting image of Cousin Curufin and your sire. Now I must really sit down, my feet are killing me!”

Eldalote took her cue and supported her husband as he limped back into the cottage. Finrod seemed a lot calmer now, but he had no inclination to return indoors.

“The weather is quite fair. A stroll beside the lake would be great. I also need to find one missing horse,” Mornel suggested. Finrod and Amarie agreed. They found Orodreth’s law-father and informed him of his daughter’s whereabouts. Then they sat on grass and exchanged news. Celeglass was recovering and could expect to leave Lorien within the month. Gelmir was understandably upset about his brother. Gwindor had been scheduled to leave Lorien before he found that hatchet. They managed to save his hand, just barely. He had thought of his right hand as no longer belonging to him. Such severe reactions from former thralls worried Mornel who feared her eldest brother might never be able to return from Mandos.

“Think they would ever get back together?” Amarie asked. For a Vanya, it was unthinkable that a betrothal would be so easily broken.

“Perhaps without the Shadow and Turin muddling things up, they could have another go at it,” Finrod opined. “However, I am not sure if Gwindor can shake of the taint from his time in Angband so easily, or that young Finduilas has the strength to support him in it. She always was very sheltered…”

“The same could be said of me, my love. Now see where we are,” Amarie gave her husband a kiss on the cheek.

“First they both need to recover,” Mornel concluded. “Then we should see how we can proceed from there if their parents are willing.” The sound of hooves and a welcoming whinny announced to Mornel that her wayward horse had returned to her side. With him was a large hound.

“Huan, what are you doing here?” Mornel laughed and scratched the hound’s large head. Huan licked her face happily and Mornel was glad Fearocco did not object. Amarie and Finrod warily patted Huan as he lolled in the grass. Fearocco decided to wade out into the lake for a swim, no doubt annoying multiple Maiar as he did so with the noise he was making.

“Are there any programmes to ease escaped thralls back into Eldar society back in the First Age?” Mornel wondered aloud.

“Well, Thingol’s way of dealing with it is to label them as dark elves and leave them outside the Girdle. Orodreth took Gwindor back into my city,” Finrod mused. “I suspect Lord Rog might be an escaped thrall at some point before he went to Gondolin. Not that they talk about it.”

“What about now with former thralls being re-embodied?” Mornel asked.

“It really depends on the individual. I heard Gelmir adjusted just as quickly as any other non-thrall would. My friend Eradhil had a bit of a problem at first. He had to be convinced that no wolves were eating his legs. I heard from Cousin Glorfindel that Lord Salgant is still on Lady Este’s island recovering… I believe the Maiar are trying to help the best they can.”

“Do you think my brother Nelyo could adjust?” Mornel batted aside Huan’s paw as he tried to pat her on the head with it.

“I honestly do not know. Angrod told me in osanwe that our brother has decided to remain in Mandos until the Second Music. Aegnor asked that no one waits for him and that he is fine with where he is. I will miss my baby brother…” Finrod leaned into Amarie as she leaned against him, seeking to give him comfort from her physical closeness.

Huan decided to go for a quick dip in the lake just as Fearocco emerged. Mornel enjoyed the quiet of the moment, until Huan got out of the water and shook himself dry. From a safe distance, the horse nickered in amusement as all three elves were thoroughly drenched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Findis still uses the Quenya version of her family’s names out of habit. 
> 
> Salabeth (herbalist in Sindarin) – Orodreth’s wife (and her fate) was never named in canon but it suggests that she was of the Sindar. I am assuming she died in the Sack of Nargothrond or earlier when Minas Tirith was lost. She was just re-embodied with her husband. Her little herbal concoction just went awry. 
> 
> Orodreth seems to be not very good militarily, considering he lost both Minas Tirith and Nargothrond, both of which Finrod left in his charge. 
> 
> Not sure if Mornel will have any success fixing up the mess between Gwindor and Finduilas. Definitely a whole new arc of getting to know her relatives.


	24. All's Not Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arafinwe welcomes his son and his family back to Tirion. The celebrations do not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine not all returnees from Mandos return without issues from their time in Beleriand.

“Are you sure he did not tell you where he was going?”

“No, Aunt Lalwen, I have been looking for him too…” Mornel fidgeted with a loose hair clip. It was unlike Glorfindel not to be in his rooms especially after they had agreed to meet there before proceeding together to the palace. Instead, Mornel had found the place empty.

Aunt Lalwen was accompanied by her husband. They had travelled to Tirion from their farm up north. It was a long time since the Noldoran last welcomed a son back from Lorien. Invitations had been extended to all members of the court of Tirion and the extended family. King Olwe had sent his eldest son as his representative to witness the event. The Dowager Queen Indis had even journeyed from Valmar, a rare event in recent years given her preference for the city of the Vanyar and a life of quiet contemplation. Laurelosse was attending to her grandmother as she would be unable to dance given her still-healing knee. Mornel noted with amusement that her cousin had wisely forgone the plunging necklines she favoured for a high-collared dress.

After the formal oaths of allegiance were completed by Angrod and Orodreth, the King declared the start of the celebrations. Mornel was certain Arafinwe and Earwen would make use of the banquet and dancing that followed to better acquaint themselves with not only their son and grandson, but also Orodreth’s wife and daughter. The royal couple had been tied down by royal duties over the past week. Salabeth and her daughter looked almost overwhelmed. Earwen did her best to set the pair at ease by conversing in Sindarin. She was soon joined by the twins Isilmire and Lomire, who had a better command of the language from their interactions with the Sindar who lived near Lord Orome’s Woods.

Finrod and his wife Amarie were dancing. Sporting a page-boy cut, Celeglass was entertaining a knot of admiring ellyth with some wild tale about fighting a bear. It would take a while for his hair to grow back out to its original length. Lady Anaire was accompanied by her son, and seemed to be trying to nudge him into partnering a certain young noble elleth for the next dance. Cousin Arakano did not seem interested in either the young lady or dancing in the least. Idril sent her apologies as she and her husband had promised to visit Prince Earlindo on Tol Eressea. Elwing sent hers as well, having no desire to attend without her husband. Earendil was unable to get leave from his duties this time.

Caranthir asked to be excused from the celebration, pleading an injured arm. Mornel knew her brother and law-sister loathed such courtly events and doubted that his arm was hurting that badly given she saw him playing darts using his bad arm with Helwien in a tavern near Glorfindel’s place.

The day before, Finrod had insisted they visit his brother’s family. Hearing of previous bad blood between her brother Caranthir and Angrod, Mornel had accompanied them. Caranthir and Angrod had engaged in an arm-wrestling match while Mornel and Finrod were helping Eldalote prepare tea in the kitchen. Angrod had then proven how he had earned his epesse of Iron-handed by trouncing Caranthir and then both Ambarussa. The twins later admitted on hindsight that the entire thing was a bad idea given that Angrod could have been hurt given his current state. Mornel did not bother to inform her brothers that Angrod had been working out in Lorien to regain his former strength.

“We like Angrod and his son, even if Caranthir says they are as dull as dishwater,” Pityo said as he joined Mornel in watching the dancers. “We barely knew them, given Atto’s Exile…”

“And they sort of kept to their own in Beleriand, especially after what happened to Finrod,” Telvo added. “I doubt I saw Orodreth in person at all after his father moved up north. It was not as though we wrote to each other like Fingon and Maedhros did.” The Ambarussa’s lack of interest in their letters was only matched by Celeglass’. They were working to remedy that defect under their wives’ tutelage.

Mornel studied her relatives from her vantage point in the gallery. After arriving in Tirion, the family had been sequestered in Eldalote’s house, preparing for the ceremony. Angrod and his son now wore matching blue and white robes. They stood in conversation with Lady Eldalote and the king. The remaining ellyth stood in a separate group nearby. Salabeth was charming enough in her forest green gown but her daughter shone like a jewel in her peach-coloured dress. More than one lordling cast admiring gazes her way.

“At least we sorted out that issue about my resemblance to Curufin,” Mornel laughed. She had been worried of any adverse reaction her appearance might cause in Angrod and his son. However, Uncle Arafinwe had placed her portrait up in the palace’s grand corridor and made it clear to his son and grandson Mornel Feanoriel was a much beloved and respected kinswoman. Angrod had accepted her readily enough, having viewed her adventures from the Halls with great interest. Orodreth had taken a while to get used to the idea. He was still a bit skittish in her presence without his wife’s brew to dull his senses. Now he kept throwing wary glances over his shoulder in their direction. Telvo mischievously waved back.

Stunned, Orodreth stepped to the side and accidentally bumped into a standing candelabra. The stand toppled. The lit candles brushed against a billowing drape that rapidly caught the flames.

“Fire!” someone yelled. The dancing stopped. Elves screamed. Chaos broke out. The hall was decked out in banners and streamers that could easily catch fire. A servant made a valiant effort to douse the flames with a punch bowl to no avail.

The Noldoran and his queen tried to herd their guests away from the danger. Isilmire and Lomire had managed to get Finduilas and her mother as far as the door. Mornel lost sight of Orodreth in the swarm of panicking elves. Angrod stood frozen and dangerously close to the flames as both his wife and father tried and failed to get him to budge.

Mornel and the Ambarussa sprinted down the grand stairs towards them, with Pityo lagging behind trying to stifle his own fear of fire. Lord Rog beat them there. With a mighty roar, the smith lord seized the burning cloth and ripped as much of it off the curtain pole as he could. He then tore down the neighbouring drape and the flanking tapestry onto the floor, denying the burning remnants of fuel while smothering the flames at his feet.

“That was quick-thinking, Lord Rog,” Mornel panted as she joined him and Telvo in stamping out any lingering embers.

“You’ll ruin your silk slippers, sis,” Pityo warned from a safe distance away. Others were trying to restore order to the guests and servants, among them Finrod.

“Angarato? Are you well?” Arafinwe asked his son, who had remained as motionless as a statue throughout the commotion. He was pale and seemed on the verge of passing out. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

“The fire’s out… It’s safe… Breathe, you must breathe… Slow and steady now…” Pityo was by his side, stroking his cousin’s back and speaking to him. The colour slowly returned to the prince’s face and he went limp, falling into his father’s arms like a sack of grain.

“Healers!” Lady Earwen shrieked as she ran to her stricken son. Angrod was borne by his father and brother to a nearby room to rest. His wife followed them out. 

“You knave! What do you mean by cowering there?” Finrod bellowed in a rare show of fury, upending one of the tables to reveal his hapless nephew cowering under it. Orodreth gave a yelp of fear and fled with Finrod in hot pursuit. Their wives hastened after the pair. Celeglass and the Ambarussa followed.

Lady Indis took charge of the situation, apologizing to the guests and declaring the celebrations officially over. She ordered the kitchen to mix up a large pot of calming tisane. When it was ready, the women of the royal household, Mornel among them, offered the tisane for anyone who needed it. Lord Rog declined to be treated for the burns to his hands, claiming he had a salve in his forge up to the task. Mornel was surprised when Finduilas joined them in distributing the tisane. The princess was understandably rattled, but bore herself admirably.

Finduilas went to her grandfather’s bedside once the last guests left. She never had a chance to know her grandfather in her first life and had grown close to both Angrod and Eldalote during their time in Lorien. Her parents had been fearful she would be doomed to remain in a faint forever but she had rallied and opened her eyes after a week. Lord Guilin had been discreetly warned not to allow his sons to attend the ceremony. He had gladly complied as one of his sons was still in Lorien recovering. The matter of any betrothal between Gwindor and Finduilas was to be set aside for now.

Servants set about salvaging and cleaning the remains of the banquet. A maidservant she was friendly with discreetly passed Mornel a tray of pastries, knowing that the Feanorions had spent the bulk of their time after the ceremony away from both the dancing and the feast. She shared them with her brothers, law-sisters, and Laurelosse. Aunt Anaire and Arakano had taken their leave by then.

The Ambarussa informed Mornel that they had narrowly averted a possible kinslaying by Finrod Felagund. Their cousin had gone home with his wife and son to allow his rage to cool. Orodreth was in the kitchens with his wife and in need of a new pair of breeches having soiled himself while under the table. Their wives would keep Salabeth company while healers saw to Orodreth.

“It’s the shock… It’s like wham! You are back on the battlefield facing that dragon,” Telvo explained. Pityo nodded.

“I would expect Finrod to be more understanding,” Mornel murmured, recalling the state her cousin was in when he first left Lorien.

“I think there is more to it, where Finrod is concerned…” Pityo added. “After all, Orodreth did lose Finrod’s tower, and his hidden city.”

“I spoke with Finduilas earlier. Her grandfather is terrified of fire,” Laurelosse added between mouthfuls of pie.

“It does take time to get over the fear,” Pityo agreed. He had come to terms with his own fear of fire to some extent over the years. “Having that drape go up in flames like that almost in his face could not help…”

Laurelosse finished off her meat pie and left with her parents. They had taken rooms in an inn despite Earwen’s offer of putting them up in the palace.

* * *

 

The Feanorions had rented a modest townhouse from Helwien’s family for the duration of the visit. It was comfortable enough for their large group, and had the benefit of no servants getting underfoot.

“It’s all over the city,” Caranthir declared between mouthfuls of pancake. “Angrod’s collapse, Orodreth hiding under the table… Our noble cousin Finrod throwing a fit…” Mornel glared daggers at her brother over the breakfast table. That shut him up.

“Try not to gloat. I have seen more colourful fits from you in a tavern,” Helwien warned.

“Wasn’t the sling on the right arm yesterday?” Pityo smirked. Telvo nodded.

“I threw my left arm last night,” Caranthir explained. “My right wrist is feeling much better…”

“We met Celeglass last night at the tavern and guess who won that arm-wrestling match? No embroidery for you for now, poor baby,” Helwien dropped a kiss on her husband’s cheek.

The twins’ wives brought more pancakes for Caranthir and Helwien. The pair had gone out for a stroll before breakfast and had worked up an appetite accordingly. It was early but not so early that palace servants had not yet ventured into the market for the day’s shopping. Angrod and his son’s illness would be making the rounds of the noble circles soon as the guests started on their social calls for the morning.  

“We should visit Angrod and Orodreth later,” Mornel suggested.

“What? Why would they want us to visit?” Caranthir complained.

“Perhaps I should represent our House,” Mornel corrected. “Lady Eldalote might need some help.” Lady Eldalote’s household staff had been reduced drastically since the Darkening and her later studies under Lady Yavanna. Mornel knew she only had a charwoman to come twice a week to wash and clean.

“We’re coming too,” Isilmire and Lomire added. The Ambarussa smiled and gave Mornel a look that said they would accompany their wives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably more on the condition of the Arafinwians in a later chapter. In case anyone is wondering, Glorfindel is well. He has been called away on urgent business, if you get my drift.


	25. A Time for Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel and her brothers pay a visit to their convalescing Arafinwian kinsmen.

Lady Eldalote’s place was modest and but well-maintained. Mornel was surprised to see a page in palace livery open the door to them. The Noldoran must have assigned servants to his son’s household in light of Angrod and Orodreth’s illness. The page bade them wait in the parlour while he announced their arrival.

They did not have to wait long before Eldalote and Angrod arrived. Angrod was pale and there were dark shadows under his eyes. They exchanged polite greetings and Eldalote sent the page to fetch some refreshments, including pastries from a bakery in the next street. Their kitchen was ill-supplied to host such a large group of visitors.

“Forgive my shameful display yesterday,” Angrod whispered hoarsely once the page left the room. “I fear my son and I have utterly disgraced His Majesty and my noble brother and marred the celebration. I know the servants whisper about us…”

“More fool they then, who judge without having faced for themselves the horrors of the Dagor Bragollach,” Mornel replied quietly. Part of her was still annoyed by Finrod’s reaction to his nephew the night before. “Uncle Ara does not fault you. Did he not send you healers and servants?”

“We are in his debt,” Eldalote smiled wanly. Dark circles around her eyes suggested that she had been awake tending to her husband and son. The pair-bond between Eldar spouses might have also allowed her to experience her husband’s nightmares if he failed to shield his mind from hers properly. Such dark visions would unsettle any elf, what more one who had only known the peace of Aman?

There had been dark days in Formenos where Caranthir would shut himself away from his wife or vanish into the wilds to wrestle his own demons alone. Sometimes, Helwien would seek him out but more often, she let him be. They never spoke of it to Mornel, for such were matters to be worked out as a couple. The Ambarussa had worked out their own demons with each other before marrying to better protect their gently-bred wives. Sometimes, it was the sisters who sought comfort from their respective spouses when their own nightmares came. The four were said to be unusually close, even for wedded elves.

“How fares Orodreth?” Isilmire asked quietly.

“In reverie. His wife and daughter are by his bedside…” Eldalote replied. “The healers have dosed him heavily…” Angrod picked awkwardly at the stitching on his robe. He was embarrassed by his son’s behaviour.   

“Turin slew Glaurung but his shadow remains…” Mornel surmised. She had reread the tale many times over in its many incarnations from both Quendi and Edain perspectives. She and Finrod had discussed the events many times with Elros and later his son before Rumil and Vardamir compiled a manuscript from the consolidated tales. Finrod had later added to the manuscript from the eyewitness accounts of re-embodied elves who had fallen defending Nargothrond.

“I fear for Finduilas too. That matter with Gwindor and Turin…” Eldalote twisted her handkerchief in her hands. Mornel nodded. Many painted the Princess of Nargothrond as a flighty, superficial creature of little faith. However, Mornel suspected there was more to her cousin.

* * *

 

“Now, Finrod, aren’t we being too hasty?” Amarie coaxed. Since his recovery so long ago, she had never seen her husband in such a state. Stepping into his parents’ chambers, Celeglass gave one look at his father and quickly retreated without a word.

“I’m sorry, Amarie… It is just that I am still mad at Orodreth for that entire mess! I know it is not his fault but I can’t help it!”

“Let’s see, someone is mad because he can’t punch Turin, slay a certain dragon, or kick a certain fallen Maia in the butt, so he settles for scaring the piss out of our little coward,” a voice declared.

Finrod turned to see a smirking Caranthir in the doorway. His arm was still in a sling.

“What brings you here?”

“My little siblings are visiting Angrod, but I don’t suppose he would want to see me again so soon.”

“Wasn’t that sling on the other arm?”

“Ask your son. If you need to let off steam, go spar with Angrod or Arakano. Better still, go wrestle a bear. I should really hit you but my wrists hurt,” Caranthir drawled. “Are all the Arafinwions such morons like their father?”  

“You are a jerk, Caranthir, and leave my father out of it,” Finrod swung a fist at his cousin. It connected with Caranthir’s jaw with a loud crack.

“Finrod!” Amarie gave a cry of alarm as their visitor sank down onto the carpet.

* * *

 

Mornel was glad that she had listened to her instincts and brought along her harp for the visit. She and her law-sisters now worked what healing they could with their song to dispel the shadows that remained over Angrod. Although the Ambarussa had little talent in Songs of Healing, they lent their voices to their sister’s and wives’.

With her music, Mornel painted the wild steppes shining gold under the setting sun as she had seen in the west of Formenos. Angrod and his brother would have lived for a time in a similar country, now lost beneath the waves. She sang of peace and rebirth - life returning anew. They were surprised when Angrod chose to add his voice to the song, singing of two brothers riding on the plains.

Her cousin wanted to recover but he was pushing himself too hard. A worried Eldalote tugged at his elbow but he refused to be dissuaded. Teary-eyed, the Ambarussa and their wives fell silent, affected perhaps by the sorrowful melody Angrod had inadvertently added of brothers parted. Mornel recognized the signs. The shadow on Angrod was now awake but not yet purged.

Mornel recalled how it had been like when Finrod’s melody had twisted and run amok so long ago. Where he lacked his brother’s subtlety, the intensity of his emotions gave his Song unexpected strength. The flames were there now, licking at the dry grass. Pityo whimpered, leaning against Telvo for comfort. Everyone seemed entranced by the runaway Song. _Burning, battle… death…_ Angrod’s face twisted in agony as he sang.  

 _Wildfire was a part of life on the steppes, a part of the seasons_. Mornel fought to regain control of the Song. She sang of rains that would quench the flames, of the fallen Elves returning in the peaceful gardens of Lorien. Tentatively adding her voice, Eldalote sang of the new grass and wildflowers that would rise from the charred ground after the fire had passed. She was trying to reach her husband and snatch him back from the shadows of his first life.

Somewhere above them, two ellyth started singing a duet favoured by Sindar elflings, breaking the spell. Angrod’s face took on a serene look. The shadows had lifted for now.

 “I’m sorry, cousin…” Angrod apologized when he came to himself. “The Song, it just took a life of its own…”

“It’s alright,” Mornel panted. Her cousin had a will of iron. It had been hard fighting his Song. She was exhausted. Her muscles ached. It had felt like swimming against the current in a spring flood.

“Grandfather, is everything already?” a flushed Finduilas poked her head into the parlour. “The page is here with the pastries. He asks permission to leave as he feels a bit unwell…”

“The lad has our permission to go home and rest…” Angrod called out a little too cheerfully. He exchanged a look with his guests that said not a word about what had just transpired was to be mentioned to his granddaughter. Mornel nodded but she suspected that the intervention by Finduilas and her naneth was not by accident. A smiling Finduilas brought in the pastries on her grandmother’s best china.

* * *

 

“It’s hard… being so helpless… watching them burn…”

“I know… but at least it was not your father who set that fire.”

Mornel discreetly drew back and held Eldalote back as well, there was no hurry to wash the plates. Two elves, one redhead, one blond, were standing in the hallway, apparently studying a rather insipid watercolour painting of Orodreth as an elfling. After delivering his apology. Angrod had hastily left the parlour. Pityo had then excused himself to use the privy.

“We left the retreat too late and the flames cut us off…”

“We all make mistakes…”

“I still miss having Aegnor about…”

“I suppose he will be out if he gets tired of waiting. Fire destroys, but it also renews and purifies.”

“I suppose I should put some weight in your words of wisdom, son of the Spirit of Fire,” Angrod hugged Pityo from the side in a show of comradeship. Pityo made a face.

“I heard that from Grandfather Mahtan in the forge last month when they were making new helms for the palace guard… I do hope we are both stronger for what happened to us in Beleriand, if only because it really hurt getting to Mandos!”

* * *

 

“Caranthir, can’t I leave you alone for an hour?” Helwien chided as she dabbed at her husband’s cheek, which was turning an interesting colour.

“I didn’t expect Finrod to start throwing punches… That’s what Angrod normally does!” Caranthir protested with a wince. He bit back a retort when Mornel glared at him.

“Knowing he is in a foul mood, you rode to his villa outside the city walls for the express intention of insulting him, his father, and his brothers?” Mornel shook her head in disbelief. Caranthir could be bluntly honest to a fault.

“So how did the visit go?” Helwien asked.

“Angrod’s feeling better and intends to visit Finrod tomorrow,” Mornel replied. _And hopefully lay to rest some shadows from their time in Beleriand._ “Orodreth was not well enough to receive visitors.”

“Well, I hope they sort out their problems,” Caranthir murmured.

“Pityo’s found some common ground with Cousin Angrod and gave him some advice,” Mornel said tersely. Caranthir did not need to know his brother had extended an invitation for Angrod and his family to visit Formenos and for Angrod to visit the forges in particular to slowly come to terms with his fear of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel was focusing on a very specific part of Dorthornion – the plains, which she approximated with the steppes. She would not have known how the place looked like when Angrod and his brother held it. 
> 
> A bit of a replay of that incident in Formenos with Finrod and the Songs. Mornel must be feeling annoyed her attempt at healing backfired.


	26. Storm in a Teacup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pasts of the House of Angrod plague them in the White City of Tirion on Tuna. Mornel has a talk with Finrod.

“Where’s Glorfindel when you need him?” Arakano asked aloud. Mornel shot him a glare.

Glorfindel was probably halfway to Middle-earth by now, if not already imposing on the hospitality of Gil-galad. Aunt Lalwen had greeted the news with great alarm and it was fortunate Master Olorin happened to be visiting the Noldoran. All the better for dealing with any hysterics from Glorfindel’s amme. The House of Arafinwe had more pressing matters to deal with than a Balrog-salyer heading for Endore.

Laurelosse had taken Finduilas out to the square for a much needed walk after days of being cooped up at home. Both ellyth were promptly accosted by several ellyn who had heard of Finduilas’ easy favours and sought them. Lord Ecthelion had then intervened and sent the ellyn packing. The experience left Finduilas in tears. Laurelosse had threatened to geld their harassers.  

Finrod had deigned to visit his sick nephew. Eyewitnesses alleged that Finrod was physically thrown out of the house by his brother Angrod. The discord and unrest between the Arafinwions reached all the way to the ears of the Noldoran. Mornel had just been summoned to a meeting with Arafinwe and his queen that morning.

After the meeting, Mornel had sought out her Nolofinwion cousin and headed for the Tirion library. A falcon was sent to Aunt Findis in Lorien for any advice on healing of such fea-wounds, as Master Olorin described them before he was called on to calm Lalwen down. Mornel believed the key lay in the events that transpired in Beleriand. If they were to use Songs of Healing, they would need Finrod’s aid. Finrod was currently in no state to render such healing to his brother and nephew.

“The common point is this Sauron creature and the dragon… Then add Morgorth’s curse on the Man Turin. I think our cousins still have some issues with Aegnor’s decision to remain behind,” Arakano mused over his mug of tea.

“Were they close, Aegnor and Angrod?”

“Aye, they were born a mere two years apart – by Anor’s reckoning,” Arakano nodded. “Amme told me they were inseparable as elflings. Finrod was much older and Artanis younger…”      

“Finrod blames himself for not letting Aegnor wed his beloved Andreth…”

“What? If they were wed, what hope was there that this daughter of Man would be allowed entry to Valinor as Tuor was given? Such was not their Doom. Still, Cousin Aegnor made his choice to remain in Mandos,” Arakano conceded. “Angrod did not abandon him in any way.”

“You think Finrod feels Aegnor was abandoned by their brother?”

“That’s what my Amme feels, but I think Angrod has enough of Finrod coming down so hard on his son. We can’t all be master tacticians or fearless warriors, right?” Arakano shrugged.

“From what we have from the record, Minas Tirith was a literal fortress. Yet Orodreth lost it. Nargothrond could have escaped notice were it not for that bridge. We can put the loss of Nargothrond down to the curse on Turin. How was the other fortress lost? By enchantment? By force?” _Could his failure to hold Minas Tirith have caused his later reliance on Turin?_   

“Nothing was said on why Orodreth failed to hold Finrod’s tower… His wife died there, didn’t she?” Arakano added.

“How would you know that?” Mornel looked up from her scroll.

“I was speaking with Finduilas’ former nurse. She now works in the palace kitchen,” Arakano blushed slightly. “Before you say anything else, she’s wedded already…”

“Ah, I see.” Mornel wondered if this nurse had an unattached kinswoman who might have caught her cousin’s eye. Aunt Anaire would never approve of her precious son marrying a mere servant. 

“Well, our little cousin was not yet in her majority when she lost her mother. She was just shy of coming of age when she got betrothed to Gwindor, who was barely older than her. Just as they were both of age and ready to be married, he gets captured and we know the rest…” Arakano paused to take another sip of tea before continuing.  

“There was some talk that the match was engineered so that the noble Finrod might have an heir after Orodreth in Gwindor, who is son of Lord Guilin, a fellow Noldo, rather than some foundling. I understand he was quite charming before Angband. There were already questions about Orodreth’s capabilities as a leader… Gwindor and Finduilas would have been a beautiful couple…” Arakano looked shrewdly over the rim of his mug at Mornel. His time in Numenor as ambassador for Eldar interests had given him an insight into the workings of power in any court.

“I believe, in his own way, Gwindor loved Finduilas. Were her affections for him real? Were her feelings for Turin solely due to the enchantment?” Mornel frowned. Her visit to the library and the chat with her cousin had been informative. Now they had to use the information to help the House of Arafinwe.  

“It’s your call now, Peace-weaver,” Arakano teased. “I would suggest we mend the fence between Cousins Finrod and Angrod first though, before dealing with the youngsters.”

* * *

 

“My lord, you are troubled,” Edrahil observed as Finrod whacked the straw dummy with his wooden sword. Finrod decapitated the dummy with a roar and threw aside the ruined sword. Panting, he surrendered the training yard to the dozen palace guards who had been watching from a wary distance. The Crown Prince was in a rare mood.

The king had summoned both his sons into his presence to explain the debacle before Lady Eldalote’s house. It was unbecoming for such discord to exist between brothers. The meeting had ended with both brothers parting in a huff and the Noldoran stricken with a headache.

Unable to reason with her husband and faced with his increasing short temper, Amarie had gone to stay with her cousins in Valmar. Their son made some excuse about a hunting trip and took himself off to Lord Orome’s. Only Edrahil remained by his side, loyal as always.

“There are bets being placed in the taverns, you should know. On whether there will be a replay of what happened between Atto and Uncle Nolo,” Mornel’s voice cut into Finrod’s dark thoughts. Clad in black, Curufin’s sister was leaning against a pillar, her hair bound back. She was unknowingly mimicking the stance Curufin had often used in the dark halls of Nargothrond.

“Have you come to laugh at the discord in my family?” Finrod snapped. Edrahil looked from his master to Mornel and back. Finrod had always been on friendly terms with his cousin Mornel. Edrahil had grown to admire and respect the Feanoriel over the years. Mornel’s eyes were flinty, reminding him of Curufin’s steely glare when crossed at Council back in Nargothrond.

“Oh Finrod, we can’t all be master strategists. Orodreth made some bad decisions and has paid for them,” Mornel softened her tone and stepped up to her cousin, offering him a water-skin, which Finrod gratefully accepted.

“He ran, Mornel. He ran from Minas Tirith with his tail between his legs and opened the way for the Enemy to take it,” Finrod replied quietly. “I heard this from those who were there. The stones themselves told me so when I was chained in the dungeon. I had believed it a trick of Sauron’s then.”  

“Surely there must be some mistake…” Mornel made a mental note to pay a visit to Grandma Miriel and to see if she could view any tapestries on the loss of Minas Tirith. Sauron was known as a master of illusions. She had experienced his attempts to dishearten her and the Host during the War. _Perhaps some foul vision he had conjured up had led to Minas Tirith’s fall?_  

“There isn’t. He is a craven coward even if his own parents will not accept it.” 

“No father could accept their son being called a coward if he isn't one,” Mornel added quietly.

“Angrod spoiled him. Kept him safe as an elfling, nay, cossetted him…”

“Such is part of being a parent,” Mornel interjected. Turgon had done the same with Idril, shutting her away in his hidden city. Orodreth had probably done the same with his daughter in Nargothrond. Fingon had his heir sent to far-off Falas and Cirdan’s care.

“He should have been taught the necessary skills to survive and lead as a warrior. We all knew the Long Peace could not last forever…”

“Then why didn’t you before handing him Minas Tirith? You did so for Gildor, and a fine job you did of it.” 

“We did not think it necessary, given the defences…” Finrod faltered. When he decided to move to Nargothrond, he had first offered the tower to Angrod. However, Angrod wished to remain with Aegnor in Dorthornion. They had both believed Orodreth capable of such responsibility. Newly wedded, Orodreth had sought a place of security for his wife and future family.

“You thought wrong. Now, your nephew needs your support to recover, not you beating him up over things long lost beneath the waves,” Mornel retorted. “Go make your peace with your brother.”

* * *

 

“Feeling better?” Rog asked, his muscles rippling under a sheen of sweat.

“Much,” Angrod grinned and wiped his brow. Lord Rog owned one of the few smithies remaining in the city limits. He built it for his personal use before checking with the city authorities on the regulations governing forges and workshops. After much petitioning, he was allowed to keep it as a workshop for aspiring smiths.

Like always, Angrod believed in taking matters head-on, including his fear of fire. Formenos was too far away, so Pityo had recommended a visit to Lord Rog’s place. An adolescent Angrod had undergone a brief stint in the forge back in the Years of the Trees before deciding it was not the craft for him. He still remembered the repetitive swing of the hammer and the almost hypnotic ringing of metal on metal. A pail of freshly quenched nails attested to his latest efforts. His exertions had blunted his rage against his elder brother.

The Ambarussa had brought their horses to be shoed. Pityo held the bridle of his pony as one of Rog’s many apprentices made quick work of the horseshoes. That was the closest he would be persuaded to the blazing heat of the forge. Telvo deigned to join his cousin in his efforts by fishing out the cooled nails and fetching a fresh pail of water when needed.

“That should be enough. My thanks,” Rog called out and tossed a towel to Angrod.

“It should be me thanking you,” Angrod grinned and pulled his shirt back on. His muscles ached. It had been satisfying, being in control of the fire and bending it to serve his needs. Perhaps Orodreth would benefit from an afternoon in the forge.

There was also Finduilas to consider. His granddaughter’s reputation was in tatters after that incident with Turin. Aunt Anaire had suggested that they contact Lord Guilin to sort out the matter of the betrothal. Preferably, the couple should be wedded as soon as possible to avoid further gossip. Arafinwe vetoed the idea. Rushing into a hasty union would only make matters worse given the couples’ current state. Perhaps they would benefit from getting to know each other anew before committing to a marriage.

Angrod recalled the only time he had visited his granddaughter in Minas Tirith when she was still an infant. She had the golden hair of their line and the bluest eyes. Afterwards, he never had the time or inclination to visit his son and grandchild, being more concerned with Aegnor’s growing feelings for a woman of the Secondborn. Now he prayed that he had the strength to protect them both, here in Aman.

 _Had Orodreth always been so weak of will? Was the charge of Minas Tirith and later Nargothrond too much for him?_ With a scowl, Angrod pushed down the unwelcome thoughts. So far the Ambarussa had treated them with both respect and kindness. Caranthir was, as usual, his aggravating self. From what he had learnt of Mornel, she was a capable leader and he admired her abilities.

“Angrod, they told me you were here…” Finrod’s voice interrupted Angrod’s thoughts. Angrod scowled. His brother was standing there in the forge. Mornel stood outside in the yard, casually patting the nose of one of the twins’ ponies.

“What brings you here?”

“I-I have come to apologize,” Finrod started. He awkwardly held out his hand to his brother.

“Apology accepted,” Angrod took his brother’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. It seemed to him that Mornel glanced their way and smiled with approval.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel has to patch things up between Finrod and Angrod before dealing with Orodreth and Finduilas. 
> 
> A bit of a question about Orodreth’s capabilities given the strategic location of Minas Tirith. Finrod would have had to have trusted him to charge him with such a critical fortress. However, he was later described as a dullard by Curufin. Also adding to the confusion is that he was portrayed not as Finrod’s nephew in some accounts but a brother. For this fic, I am imagining him as Angrod’s son and probably not that terrific a warrior or leader.


	27. Forged in Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After mending the fences between the two brothers, Mornel turns her attention to sorting out Orodreth.

“Sorry we can’t stay, sis. And send Uncle our apologies.”

“Go on, you did promise to be there when Amme unveils her work in Valmar…”

Prince Ingwion had commissioned a series of fourteen decorative fountains for his city after complaints the original ones were breaking down after many yeni of use. Nerdanel had been working in the golden city of Valmar in collaboration with the best craftspeople from all over Valinor. Each of the fountains paid tribute to one of the Valar. Nerdenal’s team had been tasked with the design of the one dedicated to the Lord of the Hunt. The Ambarussa had supplied their mother with sketches of the flora and fauna of Lord Orome’s Woods during the design process. Now they and their wives were invited to be present for the unveiling of the fountains. The sisters were naturally eager to see their parents again in Valmar after being away for so long.

* * *

 

“What?” Caranthir glanced up from the design of a new tapestry he had been working on. His sister was looking at him in the same way their Atto did when any of his sons did something wrong.

“Can I trust you not to tick our cousins off before I invite you to join us?” Mornel asked. Helwien grinned behind her hand.

 “I am already working on an apology gift for Uncle Ara… Wanted to send Finrod an apology tapestry but he told me no thanks. I am sorry about that visit to Finrod but he really needed to see some sense. At least he’s speaking to Angrod again…”

“No thanks to you,” Helwien added. “How did you manage back in Beleriand without seriously offending the Sindar, Dwarves, and Aftercomers?”

“Elu Thingol hated us Noldor after he learned about Alqualonde thanks to Angrod’s big mouth. The Dwarves are fine as long as you stick to business and leave their womenfolk out of it. I never found any reason to quarrel with the Aftercomers. Wished I had though, especially with that Easterling Ulfang. His fellow chieftain Bor was alright. He and his sons were loyal to the last. Come to think of it, I owe one of the boys for taking that orc-arrow… Why are you looking at me like a goldfish?” Caranthir retorted.

“Caranthir, I think Finrod should interview you for your account of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Much has been written of Ulfang’s treachery but no one has ever recorded anything about those Easterlings who fought alongside you,” Mornel said. “Finrod has been fussing about the missing pieces of the history of Beleriand and I think you might be able to fill that in for him. We will go visit Finrod at his villa tomorrow.”

“Think on it, my love,” Helwien added. “We might finally be able to set the record straight on you and your friend Haleth. Would you believe they came up with a new romance novel about the both of you?”

* * *

 

Orodreth and his family had moved to Finrod’s villa outside the city in hopes that the quiet surroundings would aid his recovery. Without Celeglass and his hunting hounds in residence, the orange grove and vineyard might be the perfect place for a much-needed rest.

The villa was built with huge windows and open terraces. The pillars were all carved with leaves and other decorative motifs, in the manner of Nargothrond, so Finrod had informed her. The trio surprised Ecthelion and Laurelosse in the grove where the Lord of the Fountain was on his knee fitting Laurelosse’s slipper back on her foot as she sat on a swing. Both elves coloured furiously on seeing the visitors. Ecthelion got to his feet and explained that he was just visiting Finrod to discuss music. Caranthir suggested that there were other ways to steal a peek up his little cousin’s skirts and earned himself a swat from his wife.

Laurelosse was Finduilas’ companion and helping out at Finrod’s villa before Amarie returned from her visit to Valmar. Ecthelion did work on some musical collaborations with Finrod Felagund but it was obvious from the shy looks he gave Laurelosse that music was not the only thing on his mind. Mornel hoped the Lord of the Fountain had already sought Aunt Lalwen’s approval for this courtship.

They found Finrod, Angrod, and Lady Eldalote enjoying the sunshine on the terrace. The brothers were playing checkers and had apparently worked out their differences. Lady Eldalote was working on a shirt.

“Salabeth was up all night seeing to Orodreth. We insisted she lie in to get some rest,” Angrod explained. “Finduilas pleaded a headache after breakfast and should be in her room resting.”

“It was that nasty letter from Lord Guilin that came this morning,” Eldalote added. “He wants us to make a decision on the betrothal or he would break it off! As if they have another bride for his son in the state he is in,” she snorted.

“I will have a word with my father on this matter,” Finrod said darkly as he stood up. “Where are my manners? Cousins, come, let me get you some refreshments!” he hugged Mornel and shook Helwien’s hand. He shook Caranthir’s hand when he offered it but with much less enthusiasm.

“Well, so the Ambarussa are off to plague His Majesty Ingwe?” Finrod laughed. “Who can forget how they dyed Celeglass’ hounds bright green the last time they visited us?”

“I recall the time they filled the palace guardroom with toy snakes,” Eldalote added. She offered some lemonade to their guests.

“I do hope they stay out of mischief,” Mornel rolled her eyes. She hoped the new fountains in Valmar would not start spouting ink when unveiled by the High King.

“When Orodreth is feeling better, we should take him there to see the new fountains. They should be quite something to look at,” Angrod murmured. “Lord Rog was telling me all about the project. Some of his apprentices are working the fountain dedicated to Lord Aule. Didn’t they approach you, Lord of the Fountain?”

“Nay, I suppose they have better plumbers than me in Valmar. When Turgon was building his city, he tasked me with figuring out how to supply it with water from the hills and getting rid of the waste,” Ecthelion explained. “Imagine that! I only had a year’s training under my uncle digging wells before I switched to music. Thankfully, it all worked out or the minions of Shadow would have found us from the reek alone.”

“Ah, Lord Ulmo must have been merciful indeed,” Finrod toasted. No one seemed to mind that Ecthelion had his hand on Laurelosse’s knee. The sunshine and sweet-smelling breeze made everyone feel relaxed. Eldalote was cradling her husband’s head in her lap as he sprawled carelessly on a bench. Helwien and Caranthir were leaning into each other on their bench.

“I saw some of the sketches for Lord Orome’s fountain. If Amme heeded the Ambarussa’s suggestions, it would be crawling with squirrels, and very rampant bucks,” Caranthir chortled at the thought of a fountain topped with rutting deer. Mornel choked on her drink when he sent the image her way with osanwe. She glared his way. It was always a surprise to her when any of her brothers used osanwe since they rarely used it to communicate with her. She did not know whether it was by choice or lack of talent.

“So, you were saying we should set some records on the First Age straight?” Finrod queried.

“Aye, for a start, I was never romantically involved with Haleth. So stop slandering her. Please also correct that perception that all Easterlings are the spawn of Morgoth. We did have the ill luck to end up with some traitors in the ranks but there were faithful ones…” Caranthir replied.   

“Deal, what say we continue this discussion in my study?” Finrod asked.

“Can both of you be trusted not to break each other’s noses there?” Helwien complained. She was rubbing small circles against her husband’s thigh and probably had other ideas for the rest of the day that did not involve him disappearing with a cousin.

“I will take him outdoors if we need to break any noses,” Caranthir responded in a deadpan tone before breaking into a laugh. “I promise not to hurt our cousin, sis,” he held up his hands in surrender as Mornel shot him a glare worthy of Feanor.

“They do make a handsome couple, don’t they?” Eldalote said wistfully as Ecthelion and Laurelosse bent over a sheet of music in deep discussion. Mornel nodded in agreement. After Finrod and Caranthir left for the study, Angrod had volunteered to take the used jug and glasses to the kitchen. Helwien had volunteered to help him with the chore.

“How’s Angrod?” Mornel asked quietly as the lovebirds started singing a duet. Having returned to Tirion for a rest from sailing with Earendil, Voronwe had been asking after Laurelosse but Mornel was certain her friend would be sorely disappointed.

“He’s much stronger physically, and the nightmares come less often,” Eldalote whispered. “We have an arrangement with Lord Rog – he gave Angrod a spare key to his forge so that Angrod could use it anytime he wishes. It is frustrating but I can’t seem to do anything to help him at times…”

Mornel could only nod in silent agreement. It was hard for Eldalote, who had never left the safety of Valinor, to appreciate the dangers of Beleriand or the bonds forged there. Rog had fallen defending his city against a much stronger foe. Likewise, Angrod had perished on the battlefield. It was good that he was now able to shield his wife from his traumatic experiences of the past. Hopefully, Eldalote would adapt to this change in her spouse as well as Helwien had done.

“Grandma?” Finduilas called out as she peered out of the door leading from the hall. Her hair was a mass of tangles and she was clad in a shapeless robe over which a dressing-gown was thrown. Her feet were bare. She started at the sight of Mornel.

“Finduilas, what brings you here, child?” Eldalote immediately went to her side and started fussing with her hair and garb.

“I-I had a nightmare…” the elleth clutched her arms around herself and shuddered. “Where’s Gwindor?” She looked so painfully young and fragile to Mornel in that moment.

“In Lorien, so his father writes…” Eldalote replied. “He’s recovering…” 

“Don’t bother with that ellon now, child,” Angrod’s voice cut in. “Concentrate on getting well first before making any decisions.” He strode forward and took his granddaughter’s arm, gently steering her back indoors. Eldalote followed them like a concerned mother hen.

* * *

 

Helwien was surprised to find Salabeth up and about in the kitchens. Leaving the glasses in the sink, Angrod acknowledged his law-daughter with a smile as she bustled about. It would seem that in Amarie’s absence, Salabeth had taken on the duties of cook.

“It would seem that I have much to learn about the herbs of Valinor… I tried a home remedy to perk myself up and I think it was a bit too strong… no reverie to be had for me,” she chattered to Helwien, who had remained to assist her with the washing-up.

“What happened at Minas Tirith?” Helwien asked carefully. Salabeth was extremely relaxed now and might be persuaded to speak more readily than she might under other circumstances.

“Well, ask Orodreth,” Salabeth shrugged. “There was this huge bat-like creature trying to get into my daughter’s room. We fought and I think I got bitten… Everything afterwards was a bit hazy… Sorry…”

 _Vampire,_ Helwien’s mind supplied. Luthien had fought one in the famous Lay. Mornel had described such fell beasts that often preyed on their patrols under the cover of darkness during the War. Caranthir’s people had once slain such a beast at great cost, ensnaring it in a net and hacking off its head. _Perhaps this nugget of information might prove of use to her law-sister._

* * *

 

After the initial rush brought on by her herbal tea, Salabeth had pleaded a headache and gone back to her room, leaving the rest of the womenfolk to complete the cooking of the midday meal. Eldalote consulted a cookbook and decided on a meal of vegetable stew and baked fish pie. Laurelosse and Ecthelion had volunteered to pick fresh oranges for dessert. On hindsight, it was probably an excuse to go on a private stroll.

“A vampire, you say?” Mornel pondered as she stirred the stew-pot. Helwien nodded as she kneaded dough for the pie. Mornel had been fortunate not to encounter one during her time in Beleriand. Galadriel had taught her little cousin all she knew of the minions of Shadow and how best to deal with them. A bite from a vampire was venomous. Even if the prey escaped after the initial attack, it could be left weak and disoriented. The wound might seem to heal but then profuse bleeding would start after a few hours. The only known cure was an antidote concocted by a Silvan shaman Galadriel had to ‘persuade’ to share his knowledge with other healers shortly before the War. Caranthir had managed to trade for a few dozen doses when the vampires started venturing out from Angband. The antidote was then distributed among the Noldor, especially those who held the lands closest to Angband.

“Ada said a vampire bit Nana and me while I was in reverie,” Finduilas shuddered where she was snapping garden peas for the stew. Finduilas had insisted on helping. “I remember being sick… Then I was sent to Nargothrond. They told me afterwards Nana died.”

* * *

 

_“Vampire. What are his chances?”_

_Mornel looked over to the other end of the healing tent where a profusely-bleeding warrior was being borne in by his comrades. Blood was gushing from every orifice. There was bustle of activity as healers hastened over. Mornel remained seated, holding her brother’s hand._

_“Half and half,” a healer replied. “Has he been given the antidote?”_

_“We gave him a dose right after he was bit. It didn’t work!”_

_“Does anyone have another dose?”_

_“Half the time it doesn’t work, we don’t know why…” Maglor whispered. The vampire victim would slip away to Mandos as the healers tried to administer a second dose. Later, Mornel would learn that even those who did survive with the antidote took a long time to recover._

* * *

 

“I was in Nargothrond for some time before I recovered. Ada came to live with me…” _That must be during the Dagor Bragollach._ She finished snapping the peas and handed them to Mornel. Mornel added them to the stew. There would be a separate pot of porridge for Orodreth.

“Do you suppose that the vampire attack is still affecting Salabeth?” Eldalote asked. “She seems to be very sensitive to certain herbs…”

“No, I think she just needs to refresh her knowledge of herbs. This is quite a strong dose. Perhaps she should consider going to Lorien for lessons once Orodreth is better…” Mornel replied as she poked about the dregs in the cup Salabeth had been drinking her home remedy from. 

A loud commotion above their heads drew everyone’s attention. Mornel sprinted upstairs to the study where the noise was coming from.

“Oh, is it time to eat already?” Caranthir looked up from where he was lying flat on his back on the floor. Sitting on the edge of his writing table, Finrod was laughing into his hand. Angrod was standing over Caranthir.

“What happened here?” Mornel demanded.

“Caranthir was showing us some Easterling unarmed combat moves…” Finrod explained.

“And Angrod is a very fast learner,” Caranthir laughed as Angrod pulled him back onto his feet. “I can’t believe you actually managed to toss me over your shoulder. Well done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to delve more into the reasons behind Minas Tirith’s fall and Orodreth’s PTSD in coming chapters. I think actually losing his wife in the apparent safety of Minas Tirith and almost losing his daughter to a vampire attack would have some effect on him. 
> 
> Any shippers for Ecthelion/Glorfindel’s sister?


	28. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten this chapter to have the confrontation happen in a tavern instead of at the banquet, with Mornel not being an active participant in the mess.

Two days after their visit to Finrod’s villa, Orodreth and his wife left hastily for Lorien in the company of the Maia Aiwendil. The residents of the villa were tight-lipped about the reasons for the sudden flight. The details were vague at first but the birds who lived in Tirion and around Finrod’s villa did talk. It just took Mornel some time to piece the snippets of information gleaned from city sparrows, magpies, crows, and a particularly grumpy owl together to make sense. Helwien ran into Lady Eldalote by chance at the market and managed to get the rest of the story from her.

“So it’s that foolish Sinda wife overdoing it with the poppy all this while?” Caranthir snorted in disgust.

“Well, it was a close one, and Aiwendil got there in time,” Mornel explained as she tried her hand at embroidering a handkerchief. _Any later and they would have had to appeal to Lord Namo…_ Salabeth had gone to rouse her husband for his meal, only to find him cold and barely breathing. Her alarmed shrieks had brought the rest of the household running. Finrod had quickly diagnosed an overdose of poppy and gone for help. It was fortunate that Master Aiwendil had taken up temporary residence in his orange grove to better understand the nesting habits of birds.

Helwien had laughed as Eldalote related how Prince Finrod had roused the Maia from his slumber by literally shaking him out of his nest. They were able to keep Orodreth from slipping into Mandos a second time but it would take the skilled Maiar of Lorien to undo any damage he might have suffered from his wife’s carelessness.  

“Lady Eldalote told me Salabeth was beside herself with fear of losing her husband. Since that banquet, she had been dosing him to keep the nightmares away… He’s lousy at shielding…” Helwien added.  

“Doesn’t work that way at all,” Caranthir shook his head. “Such methods might stop the nightmares from reaching her, but it doesn’t mean Orodreth is free of their shadow. We tried dosing my brother, after Angband… Half the time the nightmares still came and more intensely…” He paled under his freckles and shuddered.

Some nights in Amon Ereb were so bad for Maedhros that all his brothers were affected by his nightmares, even with the doses of poppy and calming tisanes he was relying on to find relief. They would lie awake listening his screams. Celegorm or Maglor might brave his fury to enter his bedroom and soothe him. Even when they did manage to enter reverie, their dreams were tainted with darkness and blood. _At least here in Aman, Morgoth could not touch them from the Void, could he?_

“Finrod is kicking himself for not recognizing the signs sooner,” Mornel added as she sucked her finger after pricking it. She had heard the news from her bird-friends of how Finrod had blamed himself. Finrod might be less inclined to blame Orodreth for losing Minas Tirith in his current state. Perhaps Lorien might help Orodreth recover, without the need for his wife to dose him into insensibility.

“How’s Finduilas coping?” Mornel asked.

“Oh, that poor child! With all the uproar, Lady Indis intends to take her to Valmar when she leaves Tirion tomorrow… Mind you, it is quite a journey but she will be closer to her parents in Lorien, and away from that loathsome Lord Guilin,” Helwien added. “Would you believe that elf has the nerve to spread the word about Laurelosse and his son Gelmir getting betrothed?”

Caranthir laughed heartily, seized his wife round the waist, and kissed her on the lips. “Let him make a fool of himself.”

Mornel grinned impishly as her brother related the news the siblings had heard from their Aunt Lalwen that very morning to his wife. Lord Ecthelion of the Fountain and their little cousin Laurelosse were to be officially betrothed. The surprise announcement would be made at an upcoming court banquet celebrating the last fruit and flower of the Trees. However, it was already an open secret.

It was almost a pity she had made arrangements to leave the city for Lorien, where she hoped she would be of more use to her kinsman Orodreth. She only hoped that there would not be trouble at the banquet from any of Laurelosse’s disappointed suitors.

* * *

 

“Why, I never thought I would see this – Cousin Caranthir and Angrod drinking together!”

Both elves turned at the elleth’s voice to see a smiling Idril and her husband. Caranthir had to admit that Angrod was a fair sparring partner despite the occasional squabble. Finrod was a little too restrained in the training yard for a good workout.

“We just ran into each other,” Caranthir lied. It was Caranthir who had suggested the tavern for its strong ale and authentic Sindar cuisine. “Isn’t this too rough a place for a lady?”

“If it’s good enough for Helwien, it’s good enough for me,” Idril retorted.

“We won’t be staying long. Just need to pick up a friend…” Tuor replied. “Ah, there he is!”

He nodded at Voronwe across the taproom, who was taking way too much ale. The news of the informal betrothal had spread despite the palace’s attempts to keep it quiet before the Noldoran’s announcement. Voronwe was one of the many thwarted hopefuls.

“It’s official then?” Voronwe slurred as he looked up. His father had encouraged him to press his suit, claiming that the lady was favourably disposed to him despite indications to the contrary. His good friend Tuor had warned him about getting his hopes too high.

“It will be after the banquet tomorrow,” Idril replied as she firmly took Voronwe’s tankard away from him. She motioned for Tuor to help her with Voronwe.

“Need to clear my head…” Voronwe murmured and allowed Tuor to lead him in the direction of the privies where he would likely be sick. Judging from the empty tankards on his table, a major hangover was unavoidable.

“At least Laurelosse has made her heart clear to all,” Caranthir said as he downed his ale. “Too bad her brother is nowhere near to crack the skulls of those who refuse to accept her decision. Perhaps as a Balrog-slayer himself, our gentle Lord of the Fountain could convince them..."

“Ellyn,” Idril murmured as she shook her head. She had experienced her share of difficult suitors during her time in Gondolin. Hopefully, Voronwe had the good sense not to make a nuisance of himself at the banquet to which he and his father were invited as members of the nobility. She sat down beside her cousins and ordered a mild ale for herself and a strong one for her husband. She had visited the establishment before with Mornel and Helwien in search of proper Sindar cuisine.

“I expect he will send apologies for illness and excuse himself,” Caranthir predicted as he glanced at Idril. Like the older elves, she wore the garb of a commoner. Still, her golden hair and fair looks attracted more attention than usual. This tavern was not known to be frequented by the Noldor nobility.

“Isn’t that Lord Guilin and his son over there?” Idril asked nonchalantly. Her companions frowned and looked in the direction she indicated. She was right.

“Excuse me, I need to have some words with him over my granddaughter…” Angrod slammed his empty tankard onto the table.

“Let’s not be hasty…” Caranthir warned. Still, he excused himself and went after Angrod. It was to be expected that Angrod’s patience over the shoddy treatment and malicious slander against Finduilas would eventually run out. Guilin would soon learn the truth of her cousin’s epesse of Iron-Handed.

“Did I miss something?” Tuor asked as he returned alone. Voronwe had requested some minutes of privacy to nurse his broken heart in the back alley. Tuor would check on him after enjoying a tankard of his own.

“I do think we will have need of the City Watch soon…” his wife replied with a grim smile. It was not every day that Angrod and a Feanorion, especially Caranthir the Dark, would stand together.

“Pity, this is really good ale…” Tuor took a swallow of his ale before the punches started flying. Dodging a stool, his wife took his arm and the couple fled after leaving a generous tip on the table for the owner.

* * *

 

_Dearest Coz_

_The announcement went off without a hitch. Uncle Ara has arranged for us to have a formal wedding portrait done before the big day. Aunt Anaire has volunteered to help us with my trousseau. It is a little odd the fuss they are making, given that I am not officially a princess like Amme, but Amme says to allow him and Aunt Anaire this little indulgence given that they missed out on the weddings of Cousin Galadriel (did I get her Sindarized name right?) and Idril. Lord Tuor had a few words with Voronwe. I am pleased to hear that both he and my beloved are friends once more. He missed the announcement, being unwell. Ecthelion and I sent him a get-well-soon fruit basket._

_It was a pity Cousins Caranthir and Angrod were absent too, locked up for drunkenness and rowdy behaviour. Cousin Finrod had to drop by the watch-house after the banquet to have them freed. Seems they had some altercation with Lord Guilin and his son in a local tavern. I do hope they work things out before Uncle Ara decides to send them all on a long journey south or something. Gelmir would be a nicer ellon if he quit following his father so blindly. I can understand how Guilin feels about the love-triangle between Finduilas, his son, and that Turin, but seriously, that was an entire Age ago. Shouldn’t we move on already? I guess Gelmir still blames himself for what happened with his brother. At least he did not provoke Caranthir into killing him given some dolt locked them in the same cell. Or should I credit your brother with his restraint?_

_You will be present for our big day, won’t you? It’s a pity Master Olorin says there is no way we can get news to my brother. We do so wish he could be a part of the wedding party but there is no way we can wait an Age or two for his return._

_Many hugs and kisses,_

_Laurelosse, soon-to-be Lady of the Fountain_

_P.S. I know Aunt Anaire means well by acting as our chaperone. However, we are both grown elves and it is getting rather tiresome to have her cough every time we hold hands._

_P.P.S. Ecthelion sends his good wishes and hopes for Orodreth’s recovery._

* * *

 

“Oh dear, I do wonder where Angarato got his temper from given how mild his parents both are…” Aunt Findis clicked her tongue and pinned a sheet on the clothesline.

“You have never seen Uncle Ara in battle,” Mornel grinned as she put aside the letter she had just received from a Maia. Aunt Findis had been informed beforehand of the impending betrothal but she had not known of the brawl her nephews had been caught up with.

“I will be writing to Angarato shortly about his son, after Salabeth’s lessons,” Findis had taken it upon herself to tutor Orodreth’s wife in herb-lore. It was a bit of a struggle in the first few days given the language barrier but Findis had picked up enough Sindarin to communicate with her student.

“How’s Orodreth?” Orodreth had been taken to Lady Este’s isle, where the most critical cases were treated solely by the Maiar. Salabeth’s lessons helped take her mind off her spouse. Findis had pointed out that she was no use to anyone fretting on the lake shore when she could be learning proper healing.

“He is much better now. He should be able to receive visitors in the next few days, once he leaves the isle,” Findis pinned up the last of her laundry.

“What was Orodreth like as an elfling?” Mornel asked.

“Mischievous at times, like all elflings I suppose. Liked growing things – flowers and herbs… Rather quiet in some ways…” Findis smiled wistfully. “A regular little scholar…” All this was not new to Mornel, who had heard them from Lady Eldalote.

“Oh, he thought the world of his Atto… I suppose all boys are the same in that. He wanted to partake in the martial arts under Lord Tulkas like his father did but Eldalote thought him too young and frail for such rough sport back then.”

“Really?” Mornel remarked. Among the Avari and Silvans, training started young for their warriors. Elflings would be mentored and trained by their elders in various skills necessary for the well-being of their community. Some might be identified as potential shamans or healers, others as warriors, hunters, or craftspeople according to their aptitudes. A talented warrior was allowed to lead a troop into battle regardless of his or her age. Mornel had known of a highly dangerous but successful ice-bear hunt led by a huntress barely into her adolescence and a trio of trainees who had yet to earn their warrior-braids.

“Eldalote’s people had hopes that he would be a disciple of Lady Yavanna or Lady Este, before the Darkening happened. Angarato and Aikanaro were already trying out wrestling moves on each other and their playmates before they were even in the schoolroom, but never that child. He’s more likely to be admiring roses in the garden with Itarille or planting daisies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ran into a bit of a block on how Mornel can help Orodreth in Tirion, so I have removed the family to Lorien and Valmar for now. I have officially paired Ecthelion and Glorfindel’s sister for this fic, and Laurelosse might be more insightful than she lets on. 
> 
> It’s a quirk of Findis in this fic-verse insisting on using the Quenya names of her family.


	29. My Father's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Lorien, Mornel has a chat with Orodreth while her brother tries his hand at being peacemaker in Tirion. Tuor tries to get his family tree in order.

Orodreth had recovered enough to leave Lady Este’s isle. From a polite distance, Mornel watched as he and his fellow patients exercised by sparring with the straw dummies set up by the healers using wooden staffs. Such exercises were already familiar to many elves from Beleriand who had been warriors in their previous lives. Aunt Findis would have liked to supervise the exercise herself, but she had promised to take a dozen novice healers, Salabeth included, on a field-trip into Yavanna’s pastures. Her cousin’s moves were weak, understandable given his current state. His stance was wrong. Mornel tamped down the urge to go over and correct him. She winced as he overbalanced and fell flat on his face, to the laughter of his fellows.

“Perhaps a break would do some good!” Mornel called out. Orodreth picked himself up, rubbed his face with his sleeve, and jogged over, surrendering his staff and dummy to a waiting patient. Nearby, a former warrior turned healer was instructing a handsome elf in archery. The elf had likely lost his hand previously and lived for some time without it. Mornel had undergone the same recovery process herself under Glorfindel many years ago.

“Thanks!” Orodreth took the water-skin from Mornel and quenched his thirst.

“We just received a letter from your father…” Mornel handed the missive to him. “We have already sent word of your recovery, but he probably has yet to receive it.” Angrod’s letter contained updates of events in Tirion, including Lord Guilin’s self-imposed exile from court due to Arafinwe refusing to pass any judgement on the betrothal of Gwindor and Finduilas as he had petitioned. More importantly, he had expressed his concern for his son’s recovery and stated that he did not in any way blame his law-daughter.

“Thank Tulkas he’s not here to see me fail…” Orodreth murmured as he returned the missive to Mornel.

“Did you seriously think that little stumble is a failure? Even the best warriors need time to recover…”

“I suppose he is disappointed in me… I am no warrior at all…” Orodreth gazed at the peaceful surface of the lake.

“Not every elf is a warrior… I mean, look at Finrod, our loremaster…”

“He was a warrior-king in Beleriand,” Orodreth corrected. “He’s right. I lost my nerve then, in Minas Tirith… I believed the tower would not hold. I believed the enemy would overrun the neighbouring lands and cut us off. So I ran.”

“I suppose we could call it a strategic retreat,” Mornel soothed. “Let’s see, your wife and child had been attacked in the safety of your stronghold. Your mind would be troubled and open to dark influences from the Shadow’s agents…” _In particular, a certain fallen Maia._

“There was no strategy in it but blind fear, Cousin. I left most of the garrison behind when I took off with a handful of warriors. I made a mistake and they paid for it… Minas Tirith and Nargothrond both.”

“The influences of the Shadow cannot be underestimated,” Mornel emphasised. “Your uncle fought against Sauron and failed. What more you who are not trained in the Songs of Power?”

“Must be tough, being Feanor’s daughter… Everyone keeps expecting me to be as great a warrior as Atto was but it is so difficult to be like him…”

“Feanor is my father but I am not my atto. Likewise, you are not your father. Orodreth is Orodreth, not Angrod,” Mornel replied. “We do not have to follow our fathers…”

“Gwindor, try pulling back further before releasing!” the archery instructor instructed his student. Mornel looked up at that familiar name. Gwindor let the arrow fly but it fell short. He took another arrow from his quiver and tried again.

“Is that Gwindor Guilinion?” Mornel asked. Orodreth nodded.

“That is my law-son, or would have been were it not for Morgoth… A fine ellon, but I am not sure about my daughter and his feelings about their relationship. I hear Finduilas is in Valmar…”

“Aye, Lady Indis’ household should provide her some much-needed peace and quiet…” _Away from Gwindor’s family._

“When things have settled, I would like a word with them both,” Orodreth looked thoughtful. “They should have a say in their own happiness.” Mornel nodded in agreement. Gwindor seemed to be more stable now, even if he was still clumsy with his right hand.

“I was glad then, you know, when I heard that he was willing to end his betrothal with my daughter. We had thought him dead – then he returned to us a broken husk of his former self. It would have been unkind to bind Finduilas to such a broken ellon, even though she had willingly waited for him… Then she turned to Turin. It was a scandal,” Orodreth smiled wryly. “Lord Guilin was suitably outraged, given that Turin was a guest in his house. I never could figure out if it was the curse on Turin’s line… I would have gladly given my daughter to him, had he asked for her hand… A mere Man, mind you.” 

Mornel refrained from pointing out that Orodreth’s cousin Idril had indeed wedded a Man, Turin’s own cousin. And that the child born of their union had inadvertently brought the Host of the Valar to Beleriand to defeat Morgoth. Turin had looked upon Lady Finduilas as a sister, not a lover, falling in love unknowingly with his own sister, so the tale went. Instead, she started chatting about Salabeth’s progress in herblore.

“It is good that someone finally has the time and wisdom to teach her. Lady Este knows I tried to but there was always so much to be done in the garrison,” Orodreth smiled. “I guess I should go back to my exercise now…”

Instead of re-joining the patients at the dummies, he started on a brisk walk along the lakeshore. Mornel watched him go with a smile. She hoped he would have the confidence to face his father and Finrod, at least long enough for them to work any lingering issues from Beleriand. It was time for them to move forward in this new Age.

* * *

 

“Confound it, Morifinwe! Will you not leave me be?” Gelmir growled his annoyance. Caranthir barred his way into the Noldoran’s audience hall.

“This is a task worthy of a servant, not a lord’s son…”

“Look, I would not even be here if you didn’t scare off our page…”

“So as Lord Guilin’s obedient son, you are here to speak with His Majesty on the matter of your brother’s betrothal? Shouldn’t Gwindor and Finduilas be allowed a say in this matter?” Caranthir tried to smirk but his jaw was still bruised from his last altercation with Gelmir and his father.

“Just allow me to speak to His Majesty!” Gelmir tried to shove his way past the guards, who promptly barred his way.

“The Noldoran is out. Let him see for himself,” Caranthir instructed. The guards obeyed and threw the doors open to reveal a hall empty except for a solitary servant scrubbing the tiles.

“Uncle has quite enough of your father’s nonsense and has gone to the countryside for some fresh air,” Caranthir replied. “Seriously, do you think you are helping your brother with your actions? Do you think your father’s behaviour is helping anyone?” Doubt showed for a moment on Gelmir’s face.

“Do not presume to judge us, Kinslayer. You know nothing…” there was a slight tremor in his voice as Caranthir’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed the front of Gelmir’s tunic.

“Yes, we know nothing. How did you think we felt knowing Nelyo was in the clutches of the Black Foe? Or seeing how marred he was when he was finally restored to us? Or how that Oath we had so readily sworn with our atto turned on us? You brainless turd…” Caranthir’s patience was at the end of its tether.

“I do hope you are smarter than that, Gelmir, is it?” Arakano drawled as he strode towards the pair down the long corridor. “That youngster you sent earlier, I believe he might want to tender his resignation between your father’s moods and my cousin’s. There happens to be a vacancy in the palace for a herald.”

“Come now, Cousin Moryo. I am certain Aunt Earwen wanted those new tapestries for her parlour, not the reception hall,” Arakano gently but firmly forced Caranthir to release Gelmir.

“Now excuse me, I have some measurements to take for new tapestries ordered by Her Majesty,” Caranthir forced himself to give a shaken Gelmir a polite nod before following Arakano into the inner section of the palace.

“Next time, leave the peace-making to your sister. You do have a most abrasive tongue…” Arakano whispered into Caranthir’s ear. “Gelmir looks as though he is about to piss in his pants… How did you manage with the Dwarves?”

“The Dwarves are more straightforward than Lord Guilin,” Caranthir shrugged. “They do not take kindly to sneaking about.”

* * *

 

Gelmir took himself off to a nearby tavern to lick his wounds. Truth be told, he was not sure about Gwindor’s feelings about Finduilas. It just didn’t seem right to him… _A Man! How could any elleth fall for one of the Secondborn?_ Yet King Turgon’s daughter had done just that.  Turin’s long dead, so there was no way Finduilas could marry him. _Was Caranthir right in that their persistence was causing more harm to Gwindor instead of protecting him?_

After the earlier brawl, they had been forced to share a cell but no conversation had been made between them. Instead, Caranthir had kept to his corner of the cell and made no attempt to engage him despite his baiting. Perhaps he had thought it not worth the effort then. After returning from Mandos, Gelmir had noticed the change in his father. He was more morose. Guilin had left Nargothrond in protest over Orodreth’s policies after Turin was made an advisor. Gwindor had declined to follow their father to Sirion. _Could he have stayed for his beloved?_ Gelmir barely knew Finduilas other than from what was spoken of her by his father. Understandably, Guilin had little good to speak of her. _Was she truly as faithless and shallow as their father made her out to be?_ Caranthir was probably right. They had made things worse for Gwindor’s chances with Finduilas. He groaned.

“A tankard, friend?”

Gelmir glanced up to see a burly man with a full beard. _Tuor._ Without waiting for his reply, Tuor ordered two tankards of ale.

“I hear you are Lord Guilin’s son and you knew my cousin Turin.”

“You must be referring to my brother Gwindor. I was in Mandos well before Turin showed up in Nargothrond…”

“Ah, a pity. Finrod suggested I spend some time getting to know my family, even if they are mostly beyond the Circles of Arda now,” Tuor chuckled. “I did hear a fair bit about my father and Uncle Hurin from King Turgon back in Gondolin, and some tales about my cousin from Beleg. Cousin Turin sounds like a load of trouble to me, even if he did slay a dragon.”

“You can say that again…” Gelmir laughed dryly and accepted the ale offered to him. Perhaps he should really sit back and leave his brother to decide for himself with regards to his betrothal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope Mornel managed to talk some sense into Orodreth and he gets over his father issues. Same for Gelmir.


	30. When in Lorien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is surprised by yet another unannounced returnee from her family. However, he might not be ready to meet her yet. Finduilas visits her parents in Lorien and runs into someone from her past life. Elenwe loses her temper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made some changes to save the Mornel’s meeting with her cousin for another chapter.

Caranthir and Helwien had written to inform her of their safe return to the Feanorian stronghold, and that the Ambarussa had managed to convince some hapless apprentices to paint the entire perimeter wall lime green. Grandfather Mahtan’s workshop had caught fire after a neighbour started experimenting with a new type of black powder. Celeglass had dropped by with a trained bear for a visit during the week. All was fine until the bear got drunk on the local beer and broke into the common baths. Both prince and his ursine pal were promptly evicted by Tatie. It was easy to be lulled into a sort of torpor in restful Lorien, Mornel mused, if one were not recovering from an existing ill or engaged as a healer. She should really consider returning to Formenos, just to keep an eye on things. She yawned and stretched out on the soft grass.

Orodreth had spoken with his father and uncle in private. What words were exchanged did not concern Mornel. What mattered was that Orodreth’s spirits had improved after those chats. Angrod had also given his blessings for his son to remain in Lorien for further studies in the healing arts after his recovery. Angrod and Eldalote had since gone on to Valmar to visit Grandmother Indis. Sallabeth was testing Aunt Findis’ patience to its limits with her misguided concepts in the use of medicinal herbs, but she would learn eventually. Findis was a wise and much respected teacher in Lorien.

Mornel looked up when she saw Finrod rowing across the lake to Este’s Isle accompanied by Master Olorin. With the slow release of former inhabitants of Nargothrond, Finrod had become increasingly active in Lorien’s rehabilitation programmes. However, Mornel was certain the last of the loyal ten who had followed Finrod on that doomed quest were already out of both Mandos and Lorien. It could not be Gwindor having a relapse as she had witnessed him at archery practice earlier with his brother. _Who could he be visiting on the island?_

She did not have to wait long before the boat returned with a new passenger. A dark-haired elf sat in the bow as Finrod rowed. Olorin was nowhere in sight. The boat drew into the shallows and Finrod disembarked, splashing softly as he did so.

“Careful now,” he reached out to assist the newcomer. He was pale and thin as was to be expected from those returning from Este’s Isle for further recovery in the Gardens of Lorien. What struck Mornel was his height. He was almost as tall as Arakano. There was an air of regal grace as he allowed Finrod to guide his steps to the shore. Mornel noticed another elf waiting for the pair in among the willows. She allowed her hood to fall back with a choked cry of recognition. _Aunt Anaire?_

Her aunt rushed forward to embrace the dark-haired ellon, kissing him on both cheeks in a rare display of emotion. _Could this be her uncle Nolofinwe?_

“Amme…” the elf called out hoarsely. Mornel realised he was her cousin, Turgon, formerly King of Gondolin. No news had been sent to her or Uncle Ara. During her stay in Tirion, Idril had not given any hint of her father’s return from Mandos. Perhaps they had been kept in the dark. Perhaps only Anaire had been informed of Turgon’s return. Mornel thought wryly that given her aunt’s dislike for boats, it was understandable why Finrod had to be the one to retrieve Turgon from the island. She would like to speak with Finrod later. Mornel yawned. Right now, she would like to slip into reverie. With another yawn, she rose to her feet and walked briskly back towards the healers’ huts.

* * *

 

“Oh, Nana… that’s coltsfoot, not comfrey!” Finduilas exclaimed and stopped her mother from ruining the poultice she had been preparing. Findis glanced up from her work stirring a pot of salve and gave Finduilas a grateful smile. At least Finduilas had managed to learn a thing or two about herbs during her time in Nargothrond. Orodreth was recovering fast now and making plans to undertake the lessons in Lorien he never had a chance to take as a young elf.

The healing wards were a hive of activity between the ongoing training of new healers and patients walking in for minor ills and hurts. Many of the returnees from Mandos were warriors in their past lives and retained their stubborn spirit. Sprains and contusions were common. One intrepid ellon had managed to open a gash on his scalp falling from an apple tree. Findis sent Sallabeth to fetch fresh bandages. That was one thing even she could not mess up. She was busy stitching up the wound when a new patient strolled in.

“Finduilas, see what he needs, please,” Findis called out. Finduilas had been granted permission by her foremother, Lady Indis, to visit her parents in Lorien in the company of Lady Elenwe. Elenwe was busy tending to an elleth who had fallen face-first into a beehive in Lady Yavanna’s Pastures.

Finduilas nodded and went towards the door. She let out a gasp that was echoed by the patient.

“F-Finduilas?”

“G-Gwindor?”

Her former fiancé was cradling his right wrist, which was starting to swell. Gwindor was bare-chested. Finduilas’ breath caught. This was the first time she had seen Gwindor without his shirt. Over his shoulder, a similarly bare-chested Gelmir scowled. Finduilas pointedly ignored him.

“Take a seat please. What happened?” Finduilas queried, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks. She could not help noticing that Gwindor was blushing as well. Gelmir followed at a respectful distance, pausing to pull on his shirt at a disapproving cluck from a Vanya healer busy wrapping a fractured leg in plaster.  

“I was wrestling with my brother and I guess I landed badly,” Gwindor bit his lower lip as Finduilas gently felt about the wrist. To her relief, it did not seem to be broken.

“Does it hurt here?”

Gwindor’s breath hitched at the sensation of her fingertips on his skin. Memories of lazy afternoons spent by the pools of the hidden city came unbidden to them both. Quiet evenings by starlight. Secretively holding hands during court functions before their betrothal became official. He placed his left hand over her hand and was gratified when she did not pull away. Their eyes met…

“Everything alright?” Findis asked as she finished her work.

“Yes, Great-aunt,” Finduilas replied meekly. The spell was broken. She pulled her hands away and murmured some excuse about fetching water. Findis brusquely completed the examination of Gwindor’s wrist and prescribed a suitable ointment to ease the swelling. Gelmir watched the exchange with curiosity. Perhaps with the correct encouragement, his little brother would not have his heart broken a second time.  

* * *

 

“Mornel, appreciate if you can show Lady Elenwe to where the new patients from the Lady’s Isle are,” Findis called out as she yanked porcupine quills from the rear of an unlucky elf. His tattoos identified him as one of the many Nandor who rode in Lord Orome’s party.

“Aye, Aunt, this way please…” Mornel was glad to see that Elenwe was almost back to her former self, so her daughter claimed. Elenwe had gained enough confidence now to travel unaccompanied and assist in the rehabilitation programmes for new returnees from Mandos. Aunt Findis was referring to the compound secluded in a quiet corner of the gardens where the most difficult cases were treated. Mornel understood that many such patients were still burdened by their past deeds and had yet to come to terms with them. Others were so damaged in their fea that not even Mandos could fully heal them.   

“Salgant,” Mornel recognized the harpist lounging at the door. The former lord of Gondolin looked up from his harp with a smile.

“My lady,” he rose and bowed. He was still gaunt and his cheeks hollow. It had taken him a while to regain some measure of health, thanks to the betrayal he had suffered in trusting someone he should not have and thus suffering for it in Angband. Such a fea-wound always cut deep. Many more similarly afflicted lingered on Este’s Island or in this compound. Lord Rog had named several formerly of his House among them.

“Princess Idril?” he started when he saw her companion. Elenwe smiled. The physical resemblance to her daughter was remarkable to someone meeting her for the first time. Mornel gently corrected him and introduced them.

“Lady, I trust you must be here to see your husband…”

“My husband?”

“Aye, he is within… were you not informed?” Too late Salgant saw the confusion in their eyes. Mornel groaned inwardly. She had not thought that Turgon would be one of those in this compound and that his wife had been left in the dark about his return. From Elenwe’s expression, she was furious no one had informed her of her spouse’s return. The Vanyar as a people were renowned for their placidness, to see one in a temper was a rare and fearful thing.

“Lord Salgant, where is he?” Elenwe demanded in a steely voice.

“Er, do you not wish to enjoy a drink first?” Salgant tried to defuse the situation. Elenwe determinedly pushed her way past Salgant. Startled eyes looked their way at the commotion. Lady Amarie was in the yard, guiding a scrawny elfling in knitting. The youngster’s eyes were dull and she whimpered in an almost animal-like manner. Mornel wondered if she was an unfortunate who had been turned into an orc in her past life or born in Angband into slavery and was now granted a chance to live the life of the Eldar she had been cheated of. Many more recovering elves were engaged in some form of craft, such as basket-weaving or pottery. Mornel noticed an ellon pull away from his fellows at the pottery wheels and dart into a doorway.

“Amarie, where is my husband?” Elenwe demanded furiously. There were many passages leading from the courtyard and Turgon’s room could be off any of them. The elfling wailed and dropped her needles. She scrambled for safety behind Mornel’s skirts. Cooing softly, Salgant scooped up the child and tried to soothe her with a lullaby. His humming seemed to calm her and she snuggled against him.

“You were not informed?” Amarie’s astonishment was plain. “He is…”

“Elenwe, I am sorry, but it was his wish to keep it from you and Itarille…” Aunt Anaire emerged from the doorway. 

“But I am his wife!” Elenwe protested.

“He still blames himself for your death and my daughter’s, and losing Gondolin. I thought it best to honour his wishes,” Aunt Anaire explained.

“I was waiting for him. Even in the Halls he never sent any word…” Elenwe’s voice cracked. The commotion was drawing quite a crowd.

“Elenwe?” a weak voice called out from behind Anaire. Finrod and Turgon stepped out of the shadows, Turgon leaning heavily on his cousin.

“I’m so sorry…” Turgon whimpered. “For letting you die…”

“You fool! You saved Itarille, that’s all that mattered to me!” Anaire and Finrod both stepped aside so that Turgon could be embraced by his tearful wife. Mornel was not sure who started it, but the spectators started applauding and cheering the couple. She let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.

“Cousin, would you like us to send word to Arakano and Idril now?” Finrod asked with a smile.

“I do wish his father, Findekano, and Irisse were here to see this,” Anaire dabbed tears of joy from the corner of her eyes.

Getting ready to leave the compound amidst the commotion, Mornel gasped in surprise as Salgant threw a cloak over her such that the attached hood shielded her face. It was a grey cloak as that worn by the healers to guard against the sun or rain.

“Apologies, my lady. Methinks it is best you leave and greet him another day. Your likeliness to your sire and all… His Majesty has been through enough as it is…” Salgant apologetically took Mornel by the elbow. Mornel saw the logic in the ellon’s words. With a terse nod, she glided to the exit and out of the compound.

“Wait, who’s that?” a bewildered Turgon pointed at Mornel’s retreating back.

“Ah,” Finrod glanced over to Mornel. “I will tell you another time.” It bothered him that he had to keep secrets from his closest friend but Turgon seemed ignorant of the fact that they had a little cousin by Uncle Feanaro, or that three of their Feanorion cousins now walked in Aman. However, he chided himself that he would need to break the news slowly to Turgon without upsetting his recovery.

The drama over, Finrod led both Turgon and Elenwe back to where Turgon would be recuperating until he was strong enough to return home to Tirion. They had a lot of catching up to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s another of the Nolofinwions back. I hope I have resolved Orodreth’s issues to everyone’s satisfaction.
> 
> Turgon has been through quite a bit and it might not be wise for him to get the shock of meeting Mornel given her resemblance to Uncle Feanaro.


	31. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel and Turgon meet for the first time at a wedding. Turgon wishes to start a new life with his family and followers.

The wedding was the talk of all Tirion, nay, perhaps all Aman. It had been many seasons since the White City’s noble circles witnessed a wedding of such grandeur. The ceremony and the feast were held in the palace at the Noldoran’s insistence. Arafinwe would not hear of his sister’s daughter having her wedding on her father’s farm up north. Moreover, Lord Ecthelion was a highly-ranked member of the royal court in Tirion. It simply would never do. Invitations were sent out to all family and friends months ahead and the city bustled with the preparations until the big day. 

Lord Ecthelion of the Fountain was decked out in his silver finery. Diamond clips winked amid his raven braids. His bride Laurelosse wore her golden hair unbound. Her gown was cut of gold cloth and flattered her generous curves. The guests watched the radiant couple dance a slow waltz. Mornel was put in mind of the Two Trees in their splendour.  It was a pity Glorfindel was in Middle-earth.

Her quiet law-sister had been to Tirion, unnoticed by all, and produced a fine portrait of the happy couple at the Noldoran’s behest. The portrait now had a place of honour overlooking the grand staircase. The couple stood hand-in-hand, gazing into each other’s eyes as if in mid-dance. Mornel noticed the forward position of her cousin on a lower step and the slight tilt of Laurelosse’s head into her fiancé’s shoulder, cleverly hiding the fact that she was as tall as Ecthelion. It was a pity Quildenen had slipped away from the city before the banquet, or perhaps it suited her just fine not to be part of the court celebrations.

Arakano and his mother were present at the banquet, as were Lady Idril and her husband. Both Turgon and Elenwe were also present. Mornel was glad to see her cousin had regained his strength in Tirion. After leaving Lorien, Mornel had spent several seasons tending to Formenos in the north and thus had little opportunity to visit her kin in the city.

The Arafinwions were also in attendance. Finrod and Amarie were catching their breaths by the refreshment table. Celeglass was flirting with a giggling servant whose colouring hinted at Avari descent. Lady Finduilas was escorted by Gwindor. Court gossip had it that the next wedding would likely be theirs. Lord Guilin had been placated after the couple made their betrothal formal at the last Festival of Flowers before the entire court. Mornel was not the only representative from the House of Feanor. Caranthir and the twins danced with their wives on the floor below.

The banquet hall was packed with guests from all over Aman. Many of the Lords of fallen Gondolin were in attendance, even Lord Salgant, who was now speaking with Turgon. It was a bit overwhelming for Mornel to say the least and she had made her escape to the upper gallery to join her mother there. Perhaps even Tuor and his son felt the same. Before the feasting even started, Earendil had disappeared after personally congratulating his former babysitter. Ecthelion had regaled his guests on many occasions on how he had struggled to teach music to young Earendil, before conceding to Idril that her son lacked musical talent. Lady Elwing never liked such gatherings and had sent her gift of a hand-woven tablecloth with her husband instead. Tuor and his wife were now leaving the dance as well. 

“What are you thinking of, child?”

“That so many have returned but many still remain in Mandos or across the Sundering Sea,” Mornel replied. Nerdanel nodded as she leaned against the balustrade. She had danced a wild reel with Lord Rog earlier and her hair was in disarray. Aunt Anaire was still bereft of her husband and two of her children. Of her ill-begotten grandson, there was little hope of his return in light of his deeds. The youngest children of Arafinwe had chosen to remain in Mandos or across the Sea. Like Galadriel, Maglor and Celebrimbor had chosen not to sail. Three more sons of Feanor languished in Mandos.

The twins and their wives wove their way to the refreshments table and were soon conversing with Finrod and Amarie. Caranthir and Helwien slipped out of the hall via the servant’s entrance, likely in pursuit of heartier fare than the finger-foods offered at the party.  

* * *

 

“So that is Mornel Feanoriel?”  

“Aye, Sire…” Salgant had to stop himself from bowing. It would not be proper with the Noldoran present and all former Noldor kings in Beleriand having renounced their titles, Turgon included.

“She is very much like her father and brother in colouring…” Turgon mused.

“I assure you she is as different from those two as chalk from cheese,” his lady-wife added.

“Her deeds do put me in mind of dear Irisse and Artanis,” Turgon added. “I am surprised Carnistir allowed her to remain in charge at Formenos and dedicated himself to the craft of his grandmother.”

“Much has changed in Aman, my love. Do you wish to be formally introduced?” Lady Elenwe asked. There was still the proper protocol to be observed and Turgon could be a stickler for rules at times. Salgant was being hailed by Lord Rog and took his leave.

* * *

 

“Kinswoman Mornel, may I introduce you to my husband, Turgon Nolofinwion…”

The full five-minutes of the formal introduction speech for first meetings was perfectly executed as only the Vanyar would be capable of, even if Elenwe was rolling her eyes and probably wishing she could omit most of the honorifics and titles they held. Mornel stifled the urge to laugh as she dropped a curtesy in reply to her cousin’s bow. She had been called the Wise, and the Lady of Formenos. _Mornel the Fair was pushing it a bit, and didn’t Turgon renounce his kingship over Gondolin, a city already lost to time and the waves?_  

As was the norm after such formal court introductions, the conversation was insipidly polite. That annoyed Mornel greatly as she would like to learn more about her cousin instead of listening to empty chatter about the weather. As a single lady, Mornel was silently chaperoned by her mother and Nerdanel was already yawning into her hand, bored by the talk. Finally, Mornel decided to forgo the charade.

“Dear cousin, it must pain you that your father and siblings are still in Mandos,” Mornel helped herself to a meringue tart from the table.

“They made their choice. Fingon and Aredhel. To wait for the ones they love. Wisely or not, I cannot say. For their sakes, my father will remain…”

“Does Arakano and your mother know?” Nerdenal gasped. Both Mornel and Turgon started at her voice, they had all but forgotten about their silent chaperone. Turgon nodded grimly.

“I intend to move my household, with His Majesty’s permission, to the south. My law-son has discovered an inlet there. It will be a wonderful place to start a new settlement and life,” he added. “Perhaps Amme and Arakano would consider joining us there…” There was a flash of pain in his eyes, just for a moment. Perhaps Tirion held too many memories for him, of the city in the Years of the Trees and its replica Gondolin.

“Down south?” Elenwe started. The news was a surprise to her. “But that’s all untamed wilderness…”

“What better place for everyone to start anew? I wish also to make amends to my friends who had suffered as a result of my stubbornness. Cousin Mornel, could you recommend me some surveyors to survey the southern lands for ore and other resources? I do hope we can persuade Rog to join us,” Turgon beamed.

“If you are referring to the deep-water inlet Tuor named Silmanien, you may need to seek permission from the Nandor tribes who have their summer camp there. I understand Cousin Finrod has spent a few seasons among them. For the Mornien, the climate is harsher but we have received high-quality mithril and gemstones from the gorge,” Mornel replied. She snapped her bracelet off her wrist and held it up for Turgon’s inspection.

“The raw materials in this bracelet were a gift from a tribe of nomadic elves who live on the edge of the Southern Ice. The emeralds and mithril were harvested from the foot of the gorge.”

Mornel barely registered the feast winding to its close until the bride came to bid her goodnight. She had spent almost three hours in discussion with Turgon on city-building and management. Turgon might be a traditionalist in some matters, but he genuinely cared for his family and people. Mornel had also recommended other potential sites for a new Eldar settlement, secure valleys tucked away in the bosom of the Pelori range or hidden coves and fjords along the northern coast.  

“Was it hard? Getting our people to accept your brothers back?” Turgon asked after they took their leave of their host and the happy couple.

“There were some difficulties, but none we could not work through. There were always supporters of my father and brothers in Aman and from Beleriand. We have also made our peace with King Olwe and his people,” Mornel replied frankly.

“Ah, but none of them betrayed their own kin to Morgoth. We just wished things had gone differently with Irisse, and her son… Maeglin was just an elfling when she died… Perhaps if I had paid him more attention, helped him to fit in… Perhaps shutting Irisse up in Gondolin was a mistake. She was always close to Celegorm and Curufin…” 

“Cousin, if you are going to go all maudlin on me, there is a respectable tavern where you can drown your sorrows but I doubt Elenwe will appreciate that,” Mornel gave a small smile to Elenwe. Elenwe nodded in response before whispering some last-minute advice to the bride that had Laurelosse giggling.

“Irisse is worried. Even if her son were to be released, will he be safe here? He lied to his own House, by own volition or under Morgoth’s spell. Many of his own men are furious at having been thus tricked to turn against Tuor.”

“I do wonder if Lord Orome might have a cottage or something in his Woods to spare… The Ambarussa had a little agreement to let the Sindar ‘hunt’ them through the Woods for a day in lieu of lining up to punch them in the face,” Mornel related the now legendary hunt of the twins. Turgon chuckled.

“Ah, that was Glorfindel’s idea, I suppose. Who can forget the time he started a snowball fight during a formal parade? It would not work, I doubt Irisse will be pleased if the entire population of Gondolin chases her son through the streets, even with blunt arrows. She might not be averse to hiding out in the Woods for her son’s sake though.”

“What was he, Maeglin, like? Glorfindel said he kept to himself for the most part. He thought it was some quirk that comes with being a master smith, not mixing with the other lords socially…”

“Probably because most of us were there when his father died. We were mad with rage and grief at losing Irisse. If he had not so resembled his mother, I might have chucked him off the wall after his father. He was there too, though we never mentioned it afterwards…” Turgon replied. “Thing is, even now in Aman, hardly anyone really wants to be reminded of him.”

Mornel half-closed her eyes, allowing her mind to probe her cousin’s subtly for a feel of his nephew. The regret was palatable. A series of good intentions gone awry, bad decisions and judgement. An empty slate, black as the shield of the defunct House of the Mole. Even Turgon was unable to get close to his nephew, despite all the honours he had lavished on him.

“Do you not think it for the best, dearest heart?” Elenwe interjected. “If Irisse’s son were to be forgotten by the Noldor, would it not be easier for him to return, establish himself under another name and start anew in some quiet corner of Aman?”

“Or Irisse might request he be sent back as a daughter. I do find daughters less a handful to raise than sons,” Nerdanel jested. “Now, Mornel. It is late and your uncle looks fit to drop. Let’s spare him that and clear out the last of the guests…”

Mornel noticed that her uncle was yawning into his hand and apart from the servants, they were the only guests left. She hurried over to bid her uncle goodnight before leaving with her mother.

It would be close to twenty cycles of the sun later that news reached Formenos of the two sons of Nolofinwe setting out to build a second city along the Araman coast. Of Irisse and her son there was no news. Mornel thought it for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mixed feelings about Maeglin, his actions, and motives. To be fair, the official version of the Fall of Gondolin was written by a source that had reason to be biased. A messed-up childhood might not excuse his actions entirely but it probably made him more vulnerable to being manipulated. 
> 
> I am leaving it open for now whether Maeglin and his mother will ever return but Turgon’s idea of rebuilding Gondolin 2.0 might just go bust if his nephew shows up there considering the reasonable ill-will he had incurred.


	32. Welcome to Mandos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little interlude in Mandos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add this in although it has no relation to anyone returning from Mandos. On the contrary, someone ends up there. Not Mornel centric.

S.A. 1697

Lord Namo looked up from his work as yet another flood of the Children’s shades surged into his hall. With a weary wave of his hand, he summoned the Maiar who would register the new arrivals and settle them into their respective halls within Mandos. One broken fea caught his attention.

“So you have come, Telperinquar,” he whispered. The fea shivered. It was barely recognizable as an elf. Few had arrived in Mandos in a worse state. Namo descended from his throne. This one would need a personal touch.

“Come, no one will hurt you here…” he coaxed as the fea started and shied away, drawing itself into a ball, trying to making itself smaller.

“Celebrimbor…” the Lord of Mandos coaxed, trying to reach past the fear and pain clouding the fea’s mind. Celebrimbor was like an injured animal. Perhaps he did not even realize he was already dead, and had slipped out of his tormentor’s grasp.

With a cry like that of a wild animal, he turned and fled from Lord Namo into the depths of the halls. With a weary sigh, Namo returned to his throne. The fea was confused. Perhaps when it had calmed down enough, his sister would be able to tend to it. Then only would they be able to assess the full damage Sauron had wrought on the only grandson of Feanaro and start his long healing.

A Maia came running to report a fire in one of the rooms. Feanaro had definitely sensed his grandson’s arrival. Hopefully, Finwe would be able to calm his son down before the fire spread too far.

* * *

 

“Nelyo? I must leave now, but I’ll be back. I promise,” Fingon called out softly as he ran his fingers gently through his cousin’s hair. Hair was an improvement. There had been none the last time he was allowed to visit. Maedhros lay on the bed, unresponsive. His skin was still raw, but at least was not sooty black. Here in this quiet corner of her brother’s realm, Lady Nienna tended to the worst hurts of the fea. Fingon had chattered to his cousin, reminding him he was loved and treasured, until the waiting Maiar indicated it was time for him to leave.

Standing into the hallway outside, he was surprised to see a flustered Curufin arguing with Celegorm.

“Look, Irisse isn’t going to listen to you about her son at all. That little orc’s gone for good. However, my son needs you,” Curufin had Celegorm by his collar, which was quite a funny sight given that Celegorm was taller and bigger in built than his little brother.

“I can’t leave her…” Celegorm’s eyes darted to the room where Irisse was confined for her own safety, so Lord Namo had decreed. Celegorm was the only one Irisse would tolerate in her presence in her current state.

“My son is lost somewhere in these halls and we are going to find him. It’s been a while since Eregion was lost and he has yet to turn up here for healing,” Curufin insisted. “I don’t know how bad he is hurt but… I want to do something for him!”

“Didn’t Lord Namo send out his Maiar to search him out?” Fingon asked.

“Apparently he goes into a panic and runs off whenever he senses a Maia nearby!” Curufin spat. “There have been whispers from the Sindar and Avari about a shadowy fea they do not recognize as one of theirs lurking about their part of Mandos. They say it grows fainter… I cannot lose my son!”

“Very well, brother. I will go with you,” Celegorm declared and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Count me in too,” Fingon blurted out.

“You? Tyelpe barely knew you…” Curufin shook his head. “If you bring Uncle Nolo and Cousin Aegnor in, I will tie your fea in a knot.”

“Let’s see. After that debacle with Finrod, your son broke off all ties with you two,” Fingon added without thinking. “Would he be eager to meet you again?” Almost immediately, he regretted his harsh words as Celegorm grabbed him about the neck.

“You know nothing,” he hissed menacingly. Maiar came scrambling when they sensed the threat. Celegorm released his cousin.

“It’s not time to be arguing, he needs us!” Curufin pleaded.

So that was how they came to be drifting through the halls. It was agreed that Irisse was safe enough where she was. To help smooth things over with the Sindar, they had reluctantly added Aegnor to their party once Fingon managed to tear him away from his precious tapestries depicting the brief life (by Eldar standards) of Andreth. Celegorm’s suggestion to add their father was vehemently shot down. It had taken Finwe almost forever to calm his eldest son down. They were not going to risk another fire in the halls.

* * *

 

“Tyelpe!” Curufin shouted into the darkness.

“I do think we are in trouble…” Fingon muttered as they were surrounded by hostile elves, mostly Sindar judging by their ghostly garb. The presence of the two Feanorions had not gone unnoticed.

“Why do you come here to my court?” Elu Thingol declared as he approached them.

“Oh, excuse me, we thought these were the Halls of Lord Namo,” Celegorm retorted. Thingol regarded him coldly.

“Peace, uncle. We come to seek one of ours,” Aegnor tried to placate the former king of Doriath. A restless murmur ran through the assembled warriors. Now the Noldor could see that these were warriors of Doriath in life, who had fallen defending their king and his heir.

“Why should you have yours back when I am denied my daughter and heirs?” Thingol demanded and turned to walk away.

“It was her choice to follow the mortal path,” Aegnor reminded. 

“So you have my son!” Curufin accused.

“He is not with me, Feanorion. Perhaps he is more beast than elf now. He has been leading my wardens on a merry chase,” Thingol smirked. “Now go back to your halls.”

“Your Majesty, please!” Aegnor pleaded as the Sindar swarmed around them, determined to force them back where they came.

“Tyelpe!” Curufin called out and struck the nearest Sinda in the face. The commotion was bound to draw the attention of the Maiar and possibly drive Tyelpe further from them into the endless depths of Mandos. Celegorm and Fingon fought to get free of the Sindar to no avail. They were forced out of the halls where the Sindar dwelled as they waited for re-embodiment.

* * *

 

Irisse was confused. There were some memories that just hung outside her understanding. There was an ellon, _was he her husband? Did they have a son together?_ She was sure there was a child. Try as she might, she could not recall their faces. Perhaps it was thanks to those meddling Maiar and Lady Nienna. She felt a huge part of her was missing as much as if someone had cut off a limb. Her favourite cousin and best friend was a comfort but he was gone.

She barely noticed the ragged fea slipping in under the crack of her door. It was tired and weary of being chased and hunted by so many elven fear and Maiar. It no longer resembled an elf, rather, it was a greyish blob that was rapidly fading.

“Hello there,” Irisse smiled when she noticed the tiny, scared soul in her room. “Don’t worry, I will not hurt you, I promise…” she coaxed as the terrified fea tried to rush for the exit. It hesitated and shimmered, taking on the likeness of a small, sacred elfling – a child uncertain if it would be hurt, unsure if it should trust the friendship offered. It had trusted once and had been hurt terribly.  

 _Amme?_ Tyelpe struggled to make sense of what was happening. This was not his mother, but someone else he felt he should know. His mind was too shattered and his thoughts disjointed to recognize Irisse but he felt the pull of their distant kinship.

* * *

 

“It’s hopeless!” Celegorm grumbled as they finally made it back to their part of the Halls. His nephew could be anywhere by now. Many whispered of hidden halls further in Mandos where no Eldar or Maiar may tread, halls given over to the Children of Aule to await the Second Music. If Tyelpe had found his way into these Dwarven halls, at least he would not be hunted like some creature of the woods.

“I’m not giving up yet,” Curufin insisted. Aegnor had slipped back to his treasured tapestries unnoticed.

“I’ll go with him,” Fingon said. “Just check on Nelyo after Irisse, right?” Celegorm nodded his assent and the cousins drifted off.  

Celegorm tapped on Irisse’s door. It swung open.

“Irisse?” Celegorm peered inside and was surprised to find his cousin in the company of his nephew, not as a grown elf but as a child. Little Tyelpe had curled up on the bed with his head resting on Irisse’s lap. Humming a lullaby, she stroked his hair absently. There was a smile on her face, for the first time since Celegorm started visiting her. Quietly as not to break the spell, Celegorm shut the door and hurried after his brother.

Perhaps it might be alright for Curufin to sweat a while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mandos is full of messed-up elves who are lingering there for various reasons. Elu Thingol cannot move on, neither can Irisse nor Aegnor. Celebrimbor is going to need a good deal of recovery after what Sauron did to him.


	33. Plans for the Little One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel visits her cousin as her relatives slowly recover and adjust to life in Valinor. They discuss the newest addition to the House of Arafinwe.

The cottage was tucked away in the woods, a good way from the main trail used by the trading caravans. Still it was well-kept and emitted an aura of warmth and comfort. A curl of smoke drifted up from the chimney. The kitchen garden was well-tended. The occupants were out in the garden, enjoying the sunshine as they played or went about their chores. It was the very scene of peaceful domesticity.

“I am an eagle!” the elfling shrilled as he flapped his arms from atop his father’s shoulders. Gwindor laughed merrily as he trotted around Finduilas, who was hanging up the laundry.

“Stop fooling around, Gwindor, and see to our guests!” Finduilas had noticed the arrival of visitors at her cottage gate. It was a Formenian trade caravan, or more likely a small part of one. Three elves were a far cry from the typical caravan which could be twenty strong.

Setting their son down on the grass, Gwindor obliged and warmly greeted the visitors. “Lady Mornel, it is good to see you…”

“So this must be Vorimion,” Mornel ruffled the hair of the elfling, who rather tend sit idle, had gone to help his father with the caravan’s pack animals.

“We bring gifts from the House of Angrod. Careful, that beast bites!” Caranthir warned from the back of the caravan as the determined elfling tugged at the leading rope of a donkey. Helwien laughed and scooped up the child before the donkey could sink its teeth into a childish arm.

“What a fine young ner we have here, right, Finduilas?”

Laughing, Finduilas invited their guests to tie their two donkeys to the gateposts and come in for a cup of tea. There was a large game pie baking in the oven, as Beleg had visited the day before and left five pheasants as a gift.

* * *

 

“He is growing up so fast. Nana was so worried when he came earlier than expected…” Finduilas mused as her son drowsed. Mornel suspected it had been a vision that had brought on the early labour. Those present at the birth claimed she had been babbling about great waves and a mighty fleet. Finduilas never spoke of it and no one ever probed. Most put it down to the herbs some mothers used to ease the pains.

Little Vorimion had been born two months early, well before his grandmother could arrive to assist in the birth. Gwindor had sprinted to Beleg’s camp in a panic as they were the nearest, quite forgetting that Beleg and his brother hunters were no midwives. In the end, it was only with Lady Este’s blessings that the baby was safely delivered.

Thankfully, the visions seemed to have eased in their intensity after the birth of her son. There had been little indication that Finduilas had been visited by any more nightmarish visions since.

“Your great-grandfather would like to know your plans regarding Vorimion’s education,” Mornel explained after the pleasantries had been exchanged and the gifts from Prince Angrod and Lord Orodreth handed to their hosts.

The Noldoran had sought his niece’s aid to contact his great-granddaughter’s family instead of sending an official messenger. Little Vorimion was fast approaching the age at which most Noldor youngsters start their formal schooling. However, the nearest Noldor schoolhouse was at least two days’ journey away by foot as the couple kept no horses. 

“Angrod is also worried…” Caranthir added sternly. “He said it would never do for a child’s education to be overlooked.”

“We have been teaching him his letters… And if grandfather means to send us a tutor, wherever shall we put him? The cottage is small enough as it is…” Finduilas’ hand unconsciously tightened on her son’s shoulder, as if fearing he would be taken from her. Helwien placed a reassuring hand on their hostess’ arm.

“Beleg would like to teach him the ways of a hunter…” Gwindor ventured. The Sindar took a more informal view to schooling. Beleg had appointed himself informal foster-father to the elfling after being present at his birth. Hunting was a practical skill for any elf living so far in the woods.

“I suppose if he could read, write, and have his sums in good order, that should suffice, would it not?” Caranthir’s tone softened. “If we can prove to your grandfather there is no need for him to worry… Once the little awakes from his nap, we propose he take a simple test, if it is alright with you.”

“Caranthir, since when did you become a teacher?” Helwien enquired as Caranthir took out some paper.

“It’s Angrod’s work. He gave me a simple test to administer to his great-grandson when we dropped by his place. He feels moving back to Tirion would be too hard on everyone.”

As the son of great-granddaughter, it was not considered necessary for Vorimion to be presented to the royal court and the citizens of Tirion. In fact, both Gwindor and Finduilas had not been back to the White City after their quiet wedding ceremony – held at Lord Guilin’s townhouse and attended only by a few close friends and relatives. The betrothal had been difficult even with the support of their family. Unsavoury whispers dogged poor Finduilas and Angrod had come dangerously close to making good his threat to cut out slanderous tongues on a few occasions.

If the royal court was upset at being cheated of a grand wedding, they had only themselves to blame, the Noldoran had decided when he granted his great-granddaughter’s request for a quiet wedding.

“Very well, we will let Voryo take the test after his nap,” Finduilas decided.

* * *

 

“How did he do?” the parents asked anxiously. The test done, Vorimion had been taken out to feed the friendlier of the donkeys by Helwien. Mornel had completed checking the papers, a duty she was used to having acted as teacher to the elflings of Formenos on occasion.

“His arithmetic is flawless. His understanding of the written word advanced for his age though his penmanship would need some work,” Mornel replied with a smile. “Personally, I don’t see any need to start packing for Tirion.”

“We read him stories in the evenings, then he started wanting to read them himself,” Gwindor said fondly. “Even that one about the dragon and Nargothrond.”

“You told him that story?” Mornel started.

“We had to. It’s part of our history, whether we like it or not.”

“It is better he learns what he could of it from us,” Finduilas added. “Others may not be so kind.”

“On the practical side, other than woodsmanship, has he shown any other interests or talent?” Mornel enquired. “We do have apprenticeships in Formenos for when he is older…”

“He wants to fly and fight a dragon…” Gwindor quipped. Finduilas giggled and slapped her husband lightly on the shoulder. Mornel stifled a chuckle. Dragons would be hard to come by in Valinor.

“That will be more up Lord Tulkas’ area and he will need to be older before we can send him for training as a warrior. Perhaps we can arrange for him to meet Earendil to hear from a real dragon-slayer about flying,” Caranthir reflected without batting an eyelid.

“I would prefer Vorimion be a bard or a smith, given what happened to his father…” Finduilas frowned. Vorimon was so much like Gwindor, not only physically, but also in character. Finduilas knew her son’s impulsiveness could get him in trouble.

“Relax, my love. Morgoth is gone and will trouble us no more…” Gwindor kissed his wife. She did not look too convinced. “Now the daunting task we are facing is our son’s future.”  

“Lord Orome’s Lodge will be another feasible option. Prince Celeglass is a follower of the Huntsman and will gladly recommend him as his kinsman…” Mornel continued.

“So long as the recommendation is not written,” Caranthir jested. Celeglass’ penmanship or lack of it was legendary.

“No, he will likely sing it in chickadee,” Mornel added to her brother’s joke much to the amusement of their hosts. Having fed, patted, and befriended the donkeys, Vorimion was led back into the cottage by Helwien.  

“We might consider moving back into a village to let Voryo have a chance at meeting other elflings. He does get lonely out here. He wrestles with Gwindor but it would be better to have playmates one’s age,” Finduilas conceded. “We think it too soon to consider giving him a sibling. Now, I believe the pie is ready, please do join us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the couple has been through, they deserve some little happiness. 
> 
> Vorimion (Quenya) – Son of steadfast/faithful one


End file.
